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The Shadow of the Bars 


A NOVEL 


BY 

ERNEST DE LANCEY PIERSON 


PUBLISHERS 

BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY 

CHICAGO, NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO 

The Household Library. N. Y., No. 6, Vol. 4. Nov. 16, 1888. Annual Subscription S30.00. Issued 
, semi-weekly. Blntered at the Post Oillce at New York as second class matter. 




THE POLITICS OP LABOR. 

By Phillips Thompson. 1 voL, 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“ This book will mark an epoch in American, thought. It is fully up with the times. 
* * + It is the prophet of the New Era .” — The People, R. I. 

“ One of the most valuable works drawn out by current discussions on social and econ- 
omical questions, and one that is sure to take a high place in the permanent and standard, 
literature of the Opinion, Rockland. 

“ This book is enlightening and inspiring; every thoughtful man and woman should 
read iV — Tribune, Junction City. 

“ Mr. Thompson presents the whole question of land and labor reform as clearly as 
could be desried.”— Chicago. 

BANCROFT’S HISTORY OF THE COLONIZATION 
OF THE UNITED STATES. 

By George Bancroft. Two vols in one. 12nio. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ Since Ranke’s death George Bancroft is the greatest living historian. The American 
citizen who has not read his history of the United States is a poor patriot, or an unfortu- 
nately ignorant person. We fear there are too many of them, as there are of those who 
have never even read the constitution of their country. It is not too late for these delin- 
quents to buy a copy of this great book, and learn something that will be of interest and 
pVofit the remainder of their lives .”— Churchman 

THE STORY OF MANON LESCAUT. 

From the French of L’Abbe Prevost. A new translation, by Arthur W. 
Gundry, from the French edition of 1753, with over 200 full-page and 
other illustrations by the great French artist, Maurice Leloir, and others. 
Reproduced by photogravure, wood-engraving, and photo-engraving 
processes from the superb edition de luxe, published in Paris in 1885. 
4to. Cloth, extra gold and red, in a neat box, $3.00. [N". B. — The price 
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PAINTERS OP THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE. 

By Edith Healy. Illustrated by 25 original copperplate engravings of 
choice masterpieces of the leading Italian painters, executed in the high- 
est style of art by the famous French engraver, M. PeMare. Small 4to. 
Richly bound, extra cloth, gold title and ornamentation, $5.00. Full 
morocco, $4.00. Cloth, school edition, $1.25. 

WASHINGTON IRVING’S 

LIFE OP GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

3 vols., 12mo., cloth, $4.50; 3 vols., 12mo., half morocco, $9.00; 3 vols., 
12mo., half calf, $9.00. 

To speak at this late day in praise of Irving’s “ Life of Washington ” would be like 
painting marble or gilding refined gold. No American library, public or private, is com- 
plete without this work. This is a new edition, printed from new plates, at a very mode- 
rate price. 

LES MISERABLES. 

By Victor Hugo. 1 voL, large 12mo., $1 50 ; the same on heavy paper in 3 
vols., 12mo., cloth, $4.50; 3 vols., 12mo., half morocco, $9.00 ; 3 vols., 
12mo., half calf, $9.00. Illustrated. 

“Les Miserables ” is universally admitted to be the great masterpiece of Victor Hugo, 
that brightest literary light of modern Prance. This book, once carefully read will never 
be forgotten. The study of it is an education. 

BilLFOIlD, CLARKE S CO,, Piihlishers, 

CHICAGO, NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS 



THE SHADOW OF THE BARS 


a flovel 


” / 

ERNEST DE LANCEY PIERSON 

JlUTHOK of “a slave of cikccmstaxces, ’ etc., etc. 



i 


BELFORD, CLARKE & CO., Publishers 

Chica«o, New Yom, AjiB Sam Francisco » ,'i4 


Copyrighted, 1888, by 
BELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Free ! 7 

CHAPTER II. 

A Friend in Need, 11 

CHAPTER III. 

The Comstock Diamonds, , . .18 

CHAPTER IV. 

Fortune’s See- saw 24 

CHAPTER V. 

A Divided House, 28 

CHAPTER VI. 

Deserted, 34 

CHAPTER VII. 

Along the Summer Sea, 38 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mrs. Ralston’s Party, . ......... 44 

CHAPTER IX. 

Mr. Haskins Proves his Authority, 50 

CHAPTER X. 

The Result of an Interview, 66 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A Debfebate Chakcs, 63 

CHAPTER XII. 

*'Love is Lord of Thee and Me,” 66 

CHAPTER XIII. 

It is the Unexpected that Happens, 72 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Sensation fob the Papers, 78 

CHAPTER XV. 

Light and Shade, 81 


The Shadow of the BapxS, 


> CIIAPTER I. 

free! 

The doors of the prison clanged noisily. The echof's, reverberating along 
the stone corridors, aroused still others; and a rumhliiig noise like muttered 
thunder filled the vast building with nioiiniful sounds. 

For a moment, Alice stood leaning against the rough stone walls that for a 
year past h id been her only shelter. 

The bro id glare of the merning sun blinleJ her. Accustomed as she 
was to be shat in on every side liy griy walls wi;h only a patch of b.ue to 
remind her of heaven, she half he.sitated before venturing out into the 
limitless expanse of light and ciir. 

The world that spread before her seemed so vast, so strange, that she 
paused, as on the brink of an abyss, and clung still to the gray rocks whose 
puiful hospitality she h id knovva these many me iths. 

As her quivering eyes grew accustomed to the light, she felt a childish de- 
light in searching the landscape, s.veet with the blended odors of the bud- 
ding spring. 

The blossoming hedgerows, the snowy apple trees, the flight of a swaTow 
across the corn tne red spire of a church bevond, she sa w as in a dream, 
as if she had never looked upon such things before. 

The morning breeze sweet with clover scent, blew lightly in her fa^'e, 
sott and amorous as a lover s kiss, and she drank deep draughts of the 
strong air that poured into her lungs like an atrnosnheric chamoagne. 

Her spirits expanded before the delightful spell that nuture cast around 
her, and something of the old look of frozen grief faded from her eyes; and 
a light shone where for many months the tears of bitterness had gathered. 
The chill stone against which she was leaning recalled her from her dreams; 
and she looked up with a shudder at the frowning pile, that stoo 1 in the 
midst of that flowering landscape, a black blot axainst the pale blue sky. 

Why did she linger about that h iteful place, where she had buried the 
hopes and ambitions of her youth ? 

What if they should come and take her back to that dismal cell, where 
she had cried herself to sleep as many, many nights in the hard little iron 
bed? 

A cry from one of the upper windows startled her, and the strange fancy 
seized her that they were even now coming to drag her back to prison again. 

The few moments of freedom had given her ne w life and made her fear- 
ful of losing her liberty, which she seemei to think was still endangered. 

Without knowing exactly the reason, she started running blindly down 


8 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


the road, impelled by the wild idea that she was being pursued, and that 
she would be taken back. , . . . , 

Stumbling and falling she ran on. A man who was ploughing in a held 
shouted to her, but she only redoubled her speed. 

She knew nothing of the country, because she had been brought there in 
a hideous black wagon, filled with fallen women ; but instinctively she ran 
towards the woods where she could hide herself from her imaginary pur- 
suers 

She had eaten nothing that day, and the excitement of being free after 
a year of sorrow had filled her brain with wild and chaotic thoughts, and 
started the phantom keeper on her track. 

At last the shelter of the friendly trees is reached, and panting and ex- 
hausted, she sinks at the foot of a giant oak where cool shadows like wel- 
coming arms reach out to invite rest and peace. 

Prison fare has reduced her strength and she is out of breath. For a mo- 
ment she listens, with one hand pressed on her beating heart, for the 
sound of footsteps, but not hearing them she becomes more composed, and a 
grateful sigh escapes her as the soothing silence of the woods brings rest to 
her tired spirits. 

She finds delight in every blade of grass, and the myriad insect life about 
her. Her eyes are refreshed after looking so many months at dull gray 
walls bylhe green leaves and restful vistas of the woods. 

She feels as if she could lie in the soft hollow for years and years, wan- 
dering in fancy down the forest aisles, breathing the strong odors of the 
pine, and the fresh sap of spring. 

Then her eyes fall on the sober brown holland dress she is wearing, and 
her face grows sad again and overcast. The matron at the prison gave her 
that this morning when she was discharged. How she hates the sight of 
it! 

It brings back the lonely cell; and the prison garden where no flowers 
would grow, where she took her daily walk ; the sullen faces of the pris- 
oners, and the wretch who tried to kiss her one evening in the dining- 
room. 

She shudders, and covers her eyes with her fingers, as if to shut out the 
sight of that brutal face and those leering eyes. Everyone will be free to 
insult her now. Is she not a jail-bird with the prison taint upon her? 
What matter if she is guilty or not — the world’s judges have placed her 
already among the fallen. 

Alice turns again to look around her, but the woodland vistas have lost 
their charm. A snake lifts its bright eyes from the bushes. The pine 
needles burn her hands. A horrid spider is crawling over her arm. 

She rises wearily, and walks slowly in the direction of the town, guided 
by the spire, that, in the strong noon-day sun, looks like a blood-red finger 
pointing heavenward. 

As she draws near the first outlying houses, instinctively she pulls the 
straw hat down over her eyes, lest any one should see her face. Everyone 
must read her story in her eyes, and flee from her as from an unclean 
thing. 

She walks on like one in a desert, looking neither to right nor left. In her 
imagination everyone seems to shun, to avoid her. The groups that have 
gathered on the corner to discuss the coming election open to let her 
through. They are whispering about her — she knows it. Mothers are 
pointing her out to their daughters as a thing of evil who is expiating a six; 
— a leper with the prison taint whom all honest women should shun, 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAliS. 


9 


It is that dress— that hateful dress, that marks her for a criminal. Oh, 
if she could only tear it olf, and with it the shame, the disgrace she feels! 

At last the busy part of the town is passed, and Alice turns into a quiot 
side street with a feeling of relief, of rest from being stared at. 

At the door of a little shop that displays a jar of brandy balls and some 
fly-blown cakes she asks permission of the kind-faced woman in charge to 
rest awhile. 

A little stool is offered to her, and partly to pay for her hospitality, she 
buys a cake and a mug of milk, but she is too disturbed to eat or drink. 

“ You look tired, my dear ” says the shopkeeper, bustling about. “ I sup- 
pose you’ve walked all the ways in from the farm ? ” looking at the dusty 
shoes. 

• “Yes, ma’am ” replies Alice, trying to choke down some of the cake. 

‘ ‘ Well, it ain’t right for to be walkin’ far in the sun, weather like this. My 
man has often been took down by the heat, a-comin’ home clean gone in 
his head, singin’ and talkin’ foolish, and so dizzy as he has trouble to stan’ 
up. I s’pose ye don’t think o’ walkin’ back home again ?” 

“ Oh, no ! I shall ride,” sipping her milk slowly. She is looking at a 
large poster on the wall of the shop that displays a rude woodcut of a 
woman in party dress with a jewel-box in her hands. It is the old adver- 
tisement of a serial story in one of the flash weeklies. 

“The Delevan Diamonds,” murmurs Alice half to herself as she reads 
the name at tlie foot of the bill, and a sudden faintness comes over her. 
She studies the words over and over again. 

‘ ‘ I never could get only two numbers of that there story about the dia- 
monds,” says the garrulous shopkeeper. ‘ ‘ And I was real anxious to find out 
what become of that young gal as took the jooles. Perhaps you can tell 
me, or maybe you never read it.” 

Alice shook her head sadly. 

“ It was all took from life, I hear, every word of it. Ye see there was a 
great big party given by some swell people in New York, and Mrs. Delevan, 
as they called her in the book, she was going to wear the family diamonds 
for the first time. She sent a young woman she’d hired for a companion 
and known for a good many years to the jooler to get the case. The young 
gal brought it back, and Mrs. Delevan locks it up in her bureau. When" 
the time comes to put ’em on, she opens the box and there’s nothin’ in it. 
So she ups and has the gal arrested. ” 

“And was there no one else suspected?” asks Alice faintly. 

“ Some seemed to think that her sister, who was a headstrong gal, was a 
complice; but as the other didn’t make no defence, and just as good as 
admitted she took the jooles, why they give her a year. But gracious! I 
can’t tell you the story near like it was in the paper. Just hold on a minute,” 
rummaging in an unseen drawer, ‘ ‘ I’ll find them two numbers. I’d just like 
to know what become of the one who got sent up. It’s kind o’ hard on a 
young gal to get pulled up so short in life. Just wait a minute! I think 
the papers is in the setting room,” bustling toward the door.. 

“ Never mind,” said Alice, detaining her, “you are very kind, but I am 
afraid this— this story would only sadden me.” 

She asked the way to the depot mechanically. In another moment she 
felt that she would have fainted, the room seemed whirling around so. 

The woman looked at the girl’s white face in vague wonder as she gave 
the necessary directions. ‘ ‘ If you ever get to town again, come and see me,” 
were her parting words as she returned to her brandy-balls and fly-blown 
cakes; and Alice promised, 


10 


Tm: SEADOTT OF THE BAES. 


On the wfiy to the depot, she stopped into a little dry-goods store and 

f )urelia!sed a linen travelinig cloak Liat would lii.le her dress, and a neat 
idle black straw hat, and hurried away b^f ji’e the saopkeeper had any 
chance to ask her embarrassing questions. 

She brought a, ticker for Ardeiiiield, the little town on the Hudson where 
sh.^ had lived so happily only a few months ago, but it was with no feehng 
of joy that she got in^o the train that was to bear her to her deatiu- 
ation. 

Ho.v different was this home-coming from that day she returned ^rom 
school, a frcv'-hearted, careless girl, with all the promise of a joyous 1. re 
before her! Then her father was at the gate to meet her, and Nellie. Her 
thoughts seem to stumb.e over her sisters name. 

She lo )ked out on t!ie rolling country, and a sigh that was almost a 
moan broke from her lips. 

There had been no one to meet her at the prison, not a soul Had they 
all e ist her off, believing in her guilt ? Must she p iss out of sight of all she 
liad known and loved, an l be a criminal forever in their sig .t ‘i 
Surely God in his infinite mercy would look down on her in pity. The 
Sonreher of all things would see there was no siii upon her soul. 

Alice at length fed into a troulded sleep, tilled with chaotic dreams, in 
which she found herself always fleeing from the law, hunted night and day, 
knowing neither rest nor refuge ; and befoee her hovered and danced the 
bountiful face of her sister Nellie, wearing always a mocking smile. 

Tii(' voiiQ of the conductor calling out Ardeiifield arou.S(*d her. The 
evenin g was gatliering in as she found lierself on the old familiar road she 
had traversed so often. As a child, as a gii 1, as, a woman, and now — 
and now as a discharged criminal. 

T ie snn, rc'd as blood, wa5 poising for a moment in the crest of one of 
Hio western hills, before it plunged into the violet sea of evening. To 
Alice it seemed like a gate- way to the infernal regions, the portals of the 
halls of fire. A moment, and the cloudsMenfo'.ded the dazzling disk in rosy 
folds fringed with gold, and dii k filled the air with floating shadow^s, cover- 
ing ('verything wit.i cobwebs of darkness. 

How would they receive her? she kept asking herself as she plodded on 
through the dust. Her heart sank as she turned in the gate-way, and 
walked uo to the house. The trim garden was in disorder, and rank wn.h 
weeds. Toe fence in places was broken down, and a pile of rubbish had 
been piled up in front of the porc'i. 

An icy hand seomed clutching at her heart, as she tremulously knocked 
on the door. 

There wus no light in any of the windows, but perhaps her father was 
away, perhaps he hud gone to the prison to meet her. Yes, that^must bo 
it. He had gone to the prison to meet her. 

Finding slie could get no answer at the front door, she tried the back. 
At last after hammering some time, the door was unlocked carefully, and a 
woman appeared, shading a candle with one hand. Alice looked at h t 
steadily, but faded to recognize the hard, sharp face lh.;t was thrust into 
hers. 

“ Did yo come to look at the house ?" asked the woman gruffly, think- 
ing it was a suspicions hour to examine the pr mises. 

“ I c irae to see if Mr. Valton was at home,” said Alico feebly. “Does 
he live hero 

“ He did/’ said the woman, “but ho cdn't at home.” 

“ Has he gone on a journey’ i ’ 


TBE SUADOW OF TEE BARS, 11 

“ A long one,” with a chuckle, “so long he won’t never come back. 
He’s dead.” 

Dead! Dead! The father who had carried her in his arms, who had 
gone about in shabby clothes that she and Nellie might be we^l dressed. 
Dead! This father who had been all that was good and kind to his chil- 
dren, who had lived only in their love, wiiose first thought in life had been 
that he might make them happier. And now he was dead. 

They say he died of a broken heart,” said the woman, a little awed at 
the sight of the girl’s dead, white face and quivering lips. 

“A broken heart!” Alice echoed, leaning faintiy against the railing. 
“ ’Twas nothin’ else. He was a proud man, for all bein’ so poor, and he 
never could get over seein’ his oldest daughter took away to prisem. A 
white faced hussy ! I hopes she’ll rot in jail, that I do,” with vehemence. 
“ Was you a relation of Mr. Valton ?” taking another look at the shrinking 
girl. 

“Yes; a relation.” 

The woman saw she was grief-stricken, and wanted to be sympathetic. 

“ I’d ask you in. Miss; only everything is upset through gettin’ the furni- 
ture ready to take away to-morrow.” 

\ “ Thank you ! I — I cannot stop.” 

“ Well, good night.” 

She held the light up so that the girl could see her way down the steps, 
and shaking her head mysteriously, disappeared in the house again. 

“ My fatiier dead ! dead !” Alice w'hispered as she turned away. “ And I 
killed him — I killed him,” she kept repeating over and over to herself. 
She hardly recognized the sound of her own voice. It w^as as if some one 
was whispering the words hoarsely in her ear. She groped her way to one 
of the rustic benches in the garden to rest a moment. Her heart seemed 
consuming her, and she breathed with difficulty. If she could have w ept, 
she might have felt better, but her eyes were dull and hard, as she sat there 
shivering miserably, and moaning softly to herself. 

As she crouched th<‘re it seemed a.s if that old familiar garden b-'came 
alive with horrid shadows. The stunted apple boughs writhed b ‘fore her 
eyes like hideous snakes, and burning eyes shone from dark bushes along 
the wall. 

Satyr shapes seemed to gather about her, she could not shut out the 
sight, and leering faces peered from the trees and shrubbery. “ Yon killed 
him!” they muttered, “you killed him!” pointing at her with long fingers 
of flame. 

They seemed pressing more closely around her. reaching out to seize her. 
At last, with a cry, she broke away and fled into the road, where she stood 
for some moments looking vaguely around, not knowing w'hich way to turn. 

“ O God !” she sobbed; “ have mercy - have mercy !” 

And, as if in answer to her prayer, the distant rumble of thunder was 
heard, and a warm rain-drop fell on her uplifted hands. 


CIIAPTEH II. 

A rniE-N’D IN NEED. 

'John Garthwaite sat huddled up by the shabby little table, his hands 
trembling as the pen scratched its way over the paner. lie was a long, 
bony man, with an abnormally large head, covered with thick, gray curls. 


12 


THE ISllAEO I'/ OF THE BARS. 


Cartoonists would have found liim an excellent subject for caricature, with 
his long, aquiline nose, beetling brow, and scraggy, silver-gray beard. Not 
a handsome man by any means, and yet the rugged strength of his face 
was not without a certain charm, and his black eyes were full of intellectual 
fire and nervous energy. He was not interested in what he was writing, 
for every few moments he would pause with a sigh, and look drearily 
towards the fire, where some green logs were smoking dismally. 

At last, when the nib of his pen caught in the paper, he threw it down 
angrily, and picking up the sheet of manuscript, tore it up, and threw the 
pieces in the grate. As he stood there, leaning on the mantelpiece, his 
eyes wandered involuntarily about the miserable little study, as if he were 
taking a mental inventory of the dingy furniture. How he hated it all ! 
Every patch, and stitch, and ink stain on the table-cloth, he knew as well as 
the face of an enemy. The hard little horse-hair sofa, the case of musty 
books, and the file of old newspapers; the wax flowers on the mantelpiece, 
and the seedy rag-carpet beneath his feet; the whatnot with its burden 
of sea-shells painted with horrible marine views, and a basket of alum-work 
that the house-keeper had made at boarding-school — how familiar, and 
how hated these sights were to him. 

The contemplation of the shabby room seemed to remind him of some- 
thing. He took up the lamp and went out into the damp little hall where 
a candle was burning slowly on the hat rack. 

For some moments he stood listening, and then slowly ascended the 
stairs to the second story. Here he opened a door and walked into a largo 
room. An attempt had been made here at elegance, but the heavy furni- 
ture was ponderous and ugly. The lack of little things, in the way of orna- 
ments and bric-a-brac, showed that no woman had a hand in the furnishing, 
and even the lace curtains hung as stiff as if cut out of tin. 

He laid his lamp down on the toilet-table among a varied collection of 
bottles in puffed satin apparel, and leaning his long face on a transparent 
hand seemed to pass away into a trance. 

But he was not asleep, nor in a comatose state. His eyes wandered here 
and there, brightened and grew dull, as thoughts painful and pleasant 
came and went. 

Just in the centre of that bunch of roses on the carpet, she had kissed him 
good-bye that day she went to visit her sister in the city. On that little, 
spindle-legged chair she had placed her foot, while he buttoned her dainty 
little shoes, and she had rated him about his slowness, and vowed he was 
too old and rheumatic to stoop over, and that he must soon be getting her 
a maid. 

How many little scenes came back to him as he sat there; but while a 
smile came now and then, it quickly passed away, and the old sorrow stayed. 
At last his eyes wandered to the mantel-piece," where an ugly marble clock 
and two alabaster vases stood stiffly. But he was looking at the photograph 
of a woman that smiled down at him from a little gilt easel. 

, He took it down, and held it close where the light of the lamp would fall 
on the face. The hard look in his eyes melted before the gentle sweelness 
in those other eyes. He studied every line of the fair young face slowly; 
from the soft curls that clung about the broad, white forehead, to the bunch 
of flowers that nestled in the lace at her bosom. What wooing eyes were 
hers ! What lips that seemed always pouting coquettishly for a kiss ! How 
sweet, how lovely she looked with her soft, round arms, and fair youm- 
bosom just rounding into womanly perfection ! ® 

“And I thought she could be happy here,” murmured John Garth waite 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAItS. 


13 


sadly, as his eyes wandered about the room again. “ Happy here !” as a 
tear fell on the beautiful face, and half hid the tempting, treacherous 
mouth. 

With a parting look around the room again, he took up his lamp and went 
out, locking the door carefully behind liim. The old, thoughtful frown 
returned to his forehead, as he made his way slowly down the steep stairs 
that were covered with a sticky oil-cloth; a perpetual menace to unwary 
feet. 

Garth waite was surprised to find when he reached his dingy little study 
again, that he still held the photograph in his hand. He hastened to stick 
it out of sight, in tlie drawer of his desk, under a pile of old proofs and news- 
paper clippings. Then he walked over to the window, and looked out on 
the ragged little garden with its scrubby pines, and the path lined with 
oyster shells that shone in the darkness like two rows of teeth. 

The wind had veered around, and blew with fitful gusts about the case- 
ments, whining like a beggar to get in, and swept through the currant 
bushes Avith rustling noises, accompanied by the crackling of dead twigs. 

Soon even the gleaming shells were swallowed up in the gathering gloom 
and the storm broke in fury, the rain drops falling like bullets against the 
window. 

The sight of the storm had called up some unpleasant memory in John 
Garthwaite’s mind, for he turned away from the sight of the storm, and 
began to pace nervously up and down the room, looking neither to the left 
nor the right. 

‘ ‘ There is a time in every man’s life when he makes a fool of himself. 
My time had just come. I was going to be so happy. Poor fool ! to think 
that anyone could be happy in this hateful place. It was like a mole 
mating with a butterfly and dragging her down in the ground with him to 
live.” 

He broke out Avith a laugh that was full of bitterness, and twisted his 
long fingers together as he Avalked up and doAvn. “Poor fool!” he mur- 
mured, “ poor fool!” Suddenly he paused in the middle of the floor, and 
listened intently. Was that the echo of his voice he heard above the lash- 
ing of the rain against the sides of the house ? Again it sounded from the 
darkness. There was no mistaking noAV. It was a woman’s cry for help. 
He ran into the hall shading the lamp with his hand, and tlircAv the front 
door open Avide. 

A rain-drenched figure fell at his feet. A wan, white face and two 
staring eyes AA^ere lifted towards him. “Alice — Alice Valton !” he stam- 
mered, falling back. 

“Yes, Alice Valton !” shivering in her wet clothes. 

He half supported, half carried the shrinking little figure into the warm 
study, and drew a ragged arm-chair up close to the grate. She fell into it 
heavily, as if she had been dropped there, and closed her eyes for a few 
minutes as though to rest them. He Avatched her curiously, opening and 
shutting his fingers in that nervous Avay he had Avhen in deep thought. 

“I_I knew you would not turn me aAvay, John,” she said, turning 
toAvards him Avith a grateful look in her tired eyes. 

“Turn you aAvay child ? Hoav you talk ! I Avould as soon think of turn- 
ing aAvay my OAvn sister. Why did you not let me knoAV the day you were 
toleave— to leave that place. I Avould have been there to meet you. I 
had made arrangements to go; but I thought it Avas next week.” 

“ I did not expect to be free myself, so soon,” she said. “ No, not till 
next month ;” then covering her face Avith her hands, she wept bitterly. 


14 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


Oh, .1 wish — I wish it had been for life instead of a year I What use is 
freedom to me now that papa is dead — dead I” she sobbed. 

He let her cry, knowing that it would ease her spirits ; running his 
fingers nervously through nis gray curls, as he watched her pitiful grief 
taut he knew no way to console. At last he laid his hand softly on her 
shoulder. 

“Alice,” he said kindly. “I know how you have suffered, and how 
dark and hopeless everything seems to you now. But God knows there 
is no stain upon your soul. He knows, and I know, that you have borne 
in silence the burden of another’s sin.” 

She turned and faced him slowly. 

“How did you learn that I was innocent?” she asked, looking at him 
with grave wonder in her eyes. 

“ Was it — was it ?” but the rest of the sentence died on her lips. 

“ I — 1 forgot, of course you could not know,” he stammered, wiping his 
eyes. “Alice, your sister Nellie has gone away. I can find no traces of 
her anywhere.” 

“ Gone away-gone aw’ay?” 

“Yes, a month — a month after that terrible occurrence,” he added 
brokenly, turning away his face. “It was just such a night as this. I 
had finished my work on the paper, and liad stayed a little late buying a 
few necessaries for Sunday. 1 came here. She had fled a few hours 
before through the storm, leaving only a short note of farewell.” He spoke 
wiih difficulty, and laid one hand on his heart instinctively, as if it pained 
him. “ I have been looking for her ever since in the city, but have heard 
nothing — not a trace.” He walked away to the window to conceal his 
emoiion, and stood with his back to her looking out on the murky night. 
She watched him with pitying eyes, feeling that even her own sorrow was 
small compared to liis, 

“ John,” she said softly, in a few minutes. 

“Well, Alice.” 

“ Did she go away alone ?” 

“No,” he said, turning, while his eyes flashed with fire. “God pity 
her I It was not alone. Someone saw them togetner on the train. It wa* 
not h(‘r fault. She w’as only a child, and his devilish face fascinated her, 
poor girl. He seemed a hero in her poor foolish eyes, with his fine ways, 
and handsome clothes. I know it was he who led her into crime, and then 
dragged her away from her home and her friends. Oh, Nellie I Nellie 1” 
hiding his face 

Alice was looking dreamily at the smoking fire; for a moment an expres- 
sion of sternness deepened the lines about her mouth. 

“ And on us who have done no wrong the burden falls,” she said in a 
low voice, as if speaking to herself. “ We are left to suffer while they enjoy 
themselves. John Garthwaite, I am sometimes tempted to believe that 
there is no God, or why would He let the guilty triumph over the innocent?” 

“ She was so young — so young !” he murmured feebly. Refusing in his 
blind way to see that she had done very wrong. Alice did not seem to 
hear him. but continued in the same hard voice as before. 

“ For a year I have borne the shame of a prison life. Were I to live for 
a century 1 could not wash away the stain. It has made me a leper in 
the eyes of society, and the lowest now can point their fingers at me in 
scorn and say: ‘ Beware of her! The prison stain is upon her! She is a 
jail-bird!’ T^hink what I have to face in the drearj’ years to come. Gan 
you not Bee how I felt no joy when they threw the prison doors open and 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


15 


said: ‘ You are free! — go' ? Free for what ? To come back into the world 
for fresh humiliations and iiisulis. better have stayed where 1 was. At 
least there was no one there whose scorit and contemot 1 feared.” 

She bowed her head' on her breast, and liie tears rolled slowly down 
her cheek. 

For some moments neither said a word. VThen John Garthwaite lifted his 
head his pale face v^as more composed, and his eyes had lost some of their 
nervous restless tire. In that minute he had been jjraying; hghting the 
evil part of his nature that iiad risen in revolt against his laiih in God. 

“ Alice,” he said slowly, “you have sutiered bitterly lor no fratlt of your 
own, but some day you will leap me rewaid of the s; crifice. You are 
young, too young to sit down su^ iimly and give up the struggle.” 

She stopped him with a gesture 

“ You want to be kind, aohn, and God knows wdiat a little sympathy is 
to a miserable, friendless girl in my condition But I feel as if I had lost 
all that was worth living lor. Even if 1 miglit be able to h.de myself away 
in some remote corner, and wait until deatn freed me, 1 should ahvays be 
tormented with the fear that someone would find me out and drag me into 
the light again.” 

“ 1 ou sj^eak this w’ay now,” soothingly, “ because the grief is fresh upon 
you. In time you will regard things in a much happier light. A little 
while, Alice— just a little \.hile— and you will have passed through the 

dark. ' 

“ But, my father ! I have lost him !” thinking with terror of the lonely 
house, and the strange shadows in the garden. 

“ Your burden is a heavy one, and so is mine. Eut it is heroic to suffer 
in silence. Nothing can be gained by complaining. Some day let us hope 
th,e clouds will lift.” 

lie looked thoughtfully into the fire again and sighed. 

“ Tell me,” he added, after some moments' silenc *, “ why did you sacri- 
fice yourself for Nellie's sake? Time has shown us,” sadly, “how un- 
worthy she was of love or honor ” 

“What could I do?” speaking as if the subject gave her pain. “I 
promised mother when she died that I would look after Nellie. She was 
always a little wild, but I never thought her really bad. 1 tried to do my 
duty by her, to be with her as much as possib e; but it seems I worked in 
vain. We were so different that no one would ever have taken us fi)r 
sisters, in appearance, or tastes, or manners, the was the pet of the house 
as a little girl. Every one spoilt her. 1 supjose I did my share. When 
she married you, we were so glad. Now' 1 thought there would be an end 
to worry. As your wife, she would settle down, and be honest and good, 
for sh i was kin 1-he irted before — Ijefore she met him.” 

Alice stopped to wipe away a tear that w'as rolling slowly dow n her cheek. 

“ I had heard of her being infatuated with someone while at boarding- 
school. But I thought it w’as only a foolish giil fancy that would end with 
marriage.” 

“ I believe,” he interrupted, “ this was the man she ran aw'ay with. lie 
went to Europe for some reason, perhaps to (scape the law. When she 
return(‘d from school and — and made that unfortunate marriage, the two 
lost sight of each other for a time,— a short time only. But they had not 
forgotten, it seems. He found her out, and they i lanned together to run 
awav. It w'as his scheme, no doubt, to sff^al the diamonds.” 

“ Nellie had seen the jewels. In an unfortunate moment I show’ed them 
to her; and 1 remember she put the neckhace on, and stood before the glass 


16 


THE SHADOW OF THE BADS. 


admiring the lustre of the stones. Slie said any woman might be happy 
with such a set of diamonds. You know how fond of jewelry and dress 
he always was. I think she must have told this — this man about the 
jewels, and he had suggested and i)launcd the theft. I don’t believe it 
was their intention for the blame to fall on me. I cannot think she could 
have stooped to that ; but when the suspicion pointed to me she was so 
much under his control that she held her peace. For some reason or other 
Mrs. Comstock did not wear the jewels on the night of the party. There was 
something the matter with the clasp, I know, for I helped her to dress. In 
the excitement, she went down to receive her guests, leaving the case on the 
top of the bureau. I did not remember it myself until the middle of the 
evening. Knowing there were so many people in the house, I rushed back 
to the boudoir to hide it away. The case was there, but when I opened 
it I found to my horror that the jewels were gone. I was turning away, 
sick at heart, when a sound startled me. The mirror before me showed the 
reflection of a woman crawling softly downstairs, clutching something to 
her breast. It was Kellie.” Alice paused and closed her eyes for a 
moment, as if her words had conjured up an unpleasant sight. “I have 
never known until this day how I found my way downstairs again. I was 
conscious of nothing, except that my sister, little Kellie, was a thief. 
People must have noticed how strange I looked, for I remember they 
whispered a great deal together, and looked at me curiously. My confusion 
and strange behavior at the time helped to fasten the crime on me in the 
end. For some reason, I did not get a chance to see Mrs. Comstock until 
most of the guests were ready to leave. I was just going to speak of the- 
loss, when I saw a little black-eyed man step up to her quickly, and whisper 
something in her ear. She turned deadly pale. In a moment every one 
present knew that the diamonds had been stolen, and there was great 
whispering here and there. The little man was a private detective, who 
had been employed for the evening. He testified that he had seen me 
coming out of the boudoir, and that I seemed to be laboring under a 
nervous excitement and stole downstairs softly. Others of the guests 
stated that they had observed my confusion ; one man had seen me leave 
the drawing-room in a peculiar manner that seemed suspicious. He was a 
friend of the Comstocks, whose attentions I had repulsed. You know the 
rest. Every suspicion seemed directed to me. I made no defence. Kellie 
would not speak. I thought of your unselfish love for her, and I could 
not break your heart.” 

“ Ah ! it was noble of you,” he murmured, laying his hand on her arm. 
“She was not worth the sacrifice.” 

The long story had tired Alice. She looked very pale and worn in the 
blue light of the smoky logs. 

“Did Kellie ever speak of me after— after I went away?” she asked 
finally. 

“ She acted very strangely, and I half suspected, from the first, that she 
had something to do with the theft. That man must have been always at 
her elbow, directing her steps, urging her to be firm and not give in. I 
know she used to cry a great deal. It must have been when she thought 
of your sufferings, and wanted to speak, but he would not let her.” 

“I cannot understand how she found so many opportunities to meet 
this man,” said Alice, wearily. 

“ Ah ! in a case like this there is never any trouble in arranging rendez- 
vous. _ The devil aids his own,” with a sad smile. “ I was away all day in 
the city. She could have met him often. I remember some evenings 


THE SHADOW OF THE DAKS. 


17 


when 1 came home earlier from the paper, passing a young man on the 
road, a liandsonie, dare-devil looking fellow, and 1 have no doubt he is the 
cause of poor Nellie’s downfall.” 

“Ah ! she is lost — lost!” murmured Alice, looking dreamily in the fire. 
“We can do nothing to hold her back now, John. We shall never see her 
again. ” 

“ Don’t say that,” with an effort to be cheerful. “Perhaps, when she 
has found out her sad mistake, she will come back to her real friends. 
Anyway, Alice, remember this, if you have lost a sister, you have gained a 
brother. We have suffered together through her sin, we will fight together 
to regain our lost estate.” But his eyes spoke dumbly that he expected little 
from the future. 

“ Can I go back ?” she said mournfully. “ Can I regain the youth I left 
behind the bars ? Can you find again the faith you lost, the love that is 
dead ?” 

“ Never mind me,” he said, with a forced gayety. “ I am used to hard 
knocks, and they say a man’s heart is only softened by being battered. 
We must dispose of your case first.” 

“I am afraid you will find me a hard burden to dispose of,” sadly. 
“ No one wants a woman who has spent a year in prison.” 

‘ ‘ Don’t be so sure of that. I have a plan already laid out for you. 
Knowing that I should see you very soon, I took the liberty of arranging a 
portion of your future. You are not angry that I acted before consulting 
you ?” 

“Dear friend, as if it were possible,” looking at him with grateful eyes. 
“Whatever you have done I am sure was for the best.” 

“What I had to tell you was this,” he said, walking up and down the 
room rapidly. ‘ ‘ I wrote to a college friend of mine — the Rector of St. 
Stephen in the city — some time ago, asking him to find a position as com- 
panion for a young lady of refinement, and this morning came a letter back 
telling me that he had found just the thing. One of his parishioners, a 
widow, has gone down to her cottage on the seashore, and wants the 
services of a young lady who can sing and make herself generally agree- 
able. The position is easy, the salary good, and you will have enough 
money from the sale of the house at Ardenfield to buy you a handsome 
outfit. Talk about giving up the fight 1 Absurd ! Why, in a month you’ll 
forget all about your rash words, and come home in the fall in love with 
life, if not with some one else. Come, what do you say to my plan ? Is it 
not a good one ?” turning a smiling face towards her, happy in the prospect 
that he would make h^’ happy. 

“But,” stammered Alice, carried away by the hopes he suggested, “is 
it right to come into another home under false pretences ? And then my 
name is known.” 

“Ah 1 that’s easy enough to remedy ; names are plentiful enough, and 
who is to know the difference ? The Comstocks are in Europe and may 
never return. Come, now, no objections. You are in my hands, and I have 
decided that you shall go.” 

She held out her bands to him with tears in her eyes. 

“John Garth waite, it is almost worth while to suffer, just to discover 
who are our true friends. I knew I should not appeal to dull ears when I 
came to you in my despair.” 

“ Hum !” said Garthwaite, clearing his throat, and twisting his finger in 
his collar. “ It would be a pretty how-de-do if I turned the cold shoulder 
on my old chum’s daughter. If you feel any obligation in the matter at 


18 


TEE SHADOW OF THE BARS, 


all, why you can pay me back by becoming your old cheerful self again. 
But there, I forgot all about your having on those wet clothes while I have 
been gabbling here. I will ask Mrs. Higgins to fix up your room. She is 
a very suspicious old party, and 1 must convince her that it is strictly proper 
to entertain you.” 

Alice smiled sadly. “ After what I have been through, people could not 
believe me capable of creating a scandal.” 

He left the room, and his footsteps died away in the passage. Lulled by 
the warmth of the fire, she fell into a troubled doze, in which chaotic 
thoughts of the present and the past came and went before her eyes. 

It was a great comfort, a feeling of rest the thoi^ght gave her, that she 
had at least one friend whom she could le y on in her need. She had been 
prepared for anything; her visit to the old home had steeled her heart to 
expect the worst. Her reception lieije 1 ad been so kindly that her heart 
melted, and a feeling of gratitude came over l.er. Pool dear John Garth- 
waite ! his lot in life was no less hard to bear than hers ; and he was 
content to struggle on, nursing his sorrow. She learnt a lesson from his 
patience, and the old desire to die jiassed away impalpably. She w anted to 
live. Yes, the thought shaped itself irresistibly in her brain that she would 
meet Nellie again. When ? Where ? How ? Her thoughts were inter- 
rupted by Garthwaite’s entrance. 

“Caught you napping, eh?” looking at her sleepy eyes. “Well, your 
room’s ready whenever you want it. The housekee per is next to you ; and 
if you should w’ant anything, just rap on the wall.” 

“ I think I will go now’,” said Alice, rising v, carily from her chair. “ It 
has b( en a h ng day for me. I am worn onl.” 

“I can readily believe that, and you will be better for a good night’s 
rest. Don't brood oven* w hat is ] ast ! We are goir g to tuin over a new 
page, each of us. Let us see who shows thelra\est liont to the foe, you or 
1. No more talk of deatli, Alice. Any coward can die, but it takesa hero 
sometimes to live.” 

“You don’t know’ how much encouraged I feel since I came here,” she 
said, following him into the passage. “1 was desperate when 1 reached 
YOU r door. If you had turned me away, I don’t know what might have 
happened,” w’ith a sluidder. 

“ Well, well, we won't think of w’hat mi^ht have happened. A year from 
now you will be like the cheerful little vc man 1 used to know of old. 
Good-night !” and he opened tiie door and g.,ve her the light. 

“ But you, John ! You !'’ slie said timidly. “ Will a year heal all your 
wounds ? Can yon forget so soon ?” 

] “ Don’t s’-teak of her. I hate her ! I hate her !” 

But there wa ^ an expression in his eyes that belied his words as he turned 
away, and she saw it and knew the truth. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE COM3TOCK DIAMONDS. 

“Snivfllino: snivelling! snivelling again ! I believe you onl v do it to 
provoke me,” dashing the new’spaper down he w’as reading, and scowling 
at the white-faced w^ornan by the fire. * 

“ I— I was thinking about something that happened last year at Arden- 
fteld,” said Nellie, wiping her eyes. 


TEE SHADOW OF TEE BARS. 


19 


“ Well, don’t think at all. Look ahead. Don't look back. Mercy ! If I 
were to look up my back numbers, I could find causes enough to bellow for 
a month. Women have no rignt to cry anyway — makes a perfect fright of 
’em ; and what good is a woman after lier b. auty’sgone?” rustling his paper 
irritably. She wiped here}es, and tried to look m r* che*r.ul, and then 
went over and laid tier hand tremulously on Ijis shoulder. 

“ I— 1 won't cry any more if it worries you so, George. You know I 
want to please you, for you are the only friend I have now in the world,” 
With a sad intonation in her voice. She stroked his hair slowly, until he 
began to shake his head impatiently. 

“ You are such a baby, ’’ he Siiid, rattling his paper. “ Why can’t you take 
tilings as they come, and enjoy life as 1 do ? 1 I elieve you are stili mourn- 
ing for that idiot you gave the slip to. Why don’t you go back to him, if 
you regret what you've done ? He’d welcome ye back quick enough, 1 dare 
say ” He liked to worry her, to see her kneeling at his feet, an abject beg- 
gar for his love. 

“ How cruel you are, George! You know I am always happy when you 
are kind to me. but lately — ” 

“ Well, wdiat about lately?*’ turning and staring the poor child out of 
countenance. “ Has that rascally landlady been filling your head with silly 
stories ? Come, out wuth it !” 

“ I don’t think you care for me as you did,” tremulously. “ You are not 
as kind.” 

“ What do you want me to do— sit all day with my arms around you, and 
have somebody feed me wuth a spoon ? Or w^ander about in tlie moonlight 
until we both got the pneumonia? Thar’s all very w’ell for a few weeks 
in the honeymoon, but a man can’t be always living on love and gurgling 
sentiment.” 

She looked at the fire, and .sighed. Was this the man who had vowed 
such eternal fidelity only a few months before? Was this the idol of her girl- 
ish dreams, whom she had plotted, and schemed, and sinned for? 

How changed he was since they had come ro New York and taken the din- 
gy, dirty room in a Twelfth Street lodging-house. He w^as still as fastidious 
in his dVess as of old, but of late he left her alone a great deal, on the 
plea of business, and came home after midnight reeking of liquor and stale 
tobacco Sometimes he brought a flashy-looking friend wuth him ; and 
long into the morning, when she was trying to sleep, she heard their noisy 
laugiiter. and the clink of glasses. 

Harding noticed how grave her face had become with these thoughts, 
and flung his paper impatiently away. After helping himself to a small 
glass of brandy from the bottle at his elbow, he went over to Nellie and 
took both her hands in his. 

“ Come, this won't do. little w’oman. ” he said cheeerily. “ I can’t bf*ar to 
see you unhappy. Why, we have all life before us. We will go to Europe, 
and find out some pretty w’atering-place, where there is a little villa with a 
garden, and live just like a pair of turtle-doves. And vou .shall row me 
out on the lake, and we will see the moon rise together, and go home like 
two child lovers hand in hand. *’ 

Nellie laid her curly head trustfully on his breast, and closed her eyes, as 
if to dream of this happy time that was to come in the future. As for 
Harding, he made a grimace over her shoulder, and looked out of the win- 
dow on the dirty street He was thinking what a mistake he had nade in 
encumbering himself with the care of a w’oman who imj^ed his move- 
ments, and who did not have the dash to be useful ; still in time she might— 


20 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


A knock at the door roused them both from their thoughts, good and bad. 
Harding resumed his paper, while Nellie fingered nervously the pages of an 
old magazine. 

The landlady, portly, fiery-faced, and smelling strongly of gin, bounced 
into the room at the first “ Come in, ” and stood regarding the pair aggres- 
sively, with arms akimbo. 

Then as her eyes fell on the bottle on the table, she looked at it thought- 
fully and sniffed. 

“ Brandy, eh ! Ye’can drink brandy, but ye can’t pay a poor lone widder 
her lawful rent. I’d be ashamed to be a swallerin’ luxuries under a roof 
that ain’t paid for, that I would. ” 

“ My dear Mrs. Grubbins, what is it you want ?” asked Harding, mildly 
looking at the virago over the top of his newspaper. 

‘ ‘ What do I want ? What do I want ?” almost screamed the landlady, 
w^hose face was now assuming an apoplectic hue. “Just hear the man ! 
What do I want ? I want my money for the rent of these here rooms, which 
is due for six weeks. That’s what I want. What with the cannon-ball 
tosser in the fourth back, as skipped away with a circus-rider yesterday, 
owing me for a month, and the Advance Gent elopin’ with the bearded 
lady, leavin’ a portmanty full o’ red whiskers, instead o’ nineteen dollars, 
and now you owin’ thirty, why, I don’t know where the landlord’s goin’ 
to get his money and she sank creaking into a chair, while a maudlin tear 
rolled down her flabby cheeks. 

“ But I never said I wouldn’t pay you,” said Harding, soothingly. 

“ You never said you wouldn’t, but that ain’t no money in my pocket. 
I can’t pay the rent with your promises. I want money ! money ! money ! 
That’s what I want ! ” her voice rising to a shrill screech. 

“ Let me offer you a little refreshment before we talk business,’’ he re- 
sumed, with that courtesy of manner and affected gallantry w^hich had 
first facinated poor Nellie. 

He poured her out a stiff glass of the brandy, and Mrs. Grubbins drained 
it raw with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“Well now, that did me a power of good,” rubbing her lips together 
slowly. “I finds a sip o’ liquor now and then — very beneficial for the 
heart-disease,” laying one hand with a comic gesture on her mountainous 
besom, and rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. 

Harding came near bursting into a laugh at the sight, but he restrained 
himself with an effort and said : 

“Now to business, Mrs. Grubbins, as you say. We owe you for six 
weeks’ rent. You need not be alarmed in the least for your money. I was 
just telling my wife that I should settle up our accounts to-morrow morn- 
ing, as soon as I could get a check cashed.” Nellie looked at him in 
wonder, after uttering this lie, but he frowned at her, and she turned away 
her head. “ I may as well give you notice now, Mrs. Grubbins, that we 
shall vacate these rooms in a month, as we intend to spend the summer at 
one of the French watering-places.” 

The landlady, under the influence of the brandy and Harding’s glib- 
tongued promises, brightened materially. “ I knowed from the start,” she 
said, smoothing out her dress with a pudgy hand, “ that you was a puffec’ 
gentleman. Perhaps I was a little hasty in speakin’ as I did, but then you 
know them fakirs that puts up here is such werry bad pay that^ — ” 

“ Oh, don’t apologize !” said Harding, with a gracious wave of the hand. 
“ Of course, business is business, and you have to look out for your rights. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


21 


Let me offer you another glass. Oh, I insist! ” as Mrs. Grnbbins shook her 
head feebly. “ It will do your heart good,” choking with laughter. 

“ Oil, you have such persuasive ways, sir,” gurgled the landlady. “ Well, 
here’s your werry good health, and your's ma’am,” and the libation splut- 
tered down her throat like rain through a tin spout. 

Harding showed her courteously to the door, and then shook his fist 
after her when she had disappeared. 

“ I could hardly keep from throttling the old she-dragon,” he said with 
an oath, as he paused in the eentre of the room. “That’s the curse of 
being pinehed for money. It puts you at the mercy of everybody, to be 
insulted. Well,” turning to Nellie, “we have come to the end of our 
tether. Something must be done, and at once.” 

Nellie looked up at him timidly, as if she had divined the thoughts that 
were running in his mind. 

“ Yes,” he said, looking at her steadily, “ those diamonds must be sold. 
Enough time has elapsed, and the poliee have probably forgotten all about 
the affair. We eannot live in this misery any longer. I loathe this 
wretched room whenever I eome into it. Think ! Nellie, we shall be rich — 
rich ! No more twenty-five-cent dinners, but the best hotels. We will 
make up for all these months of abstinence from luxury. You shall dress 
as becomes you, Nellie, and you will have no time for tears in the life I 
intend you shall lead,” he went on enthusiastically. Then, as he noticed 
that her face did not light up, the old disagreeable expression came into 
his eyes again. 

“You do not seem cheered by the prospect,” he said gloomily. “ You 
put a damper on everything.” 

“lam happy if you are,” she said simply, and he was forced to be con- 
tented with the reply. 

“ Let me have the keys of your trunk. I will take the jewels out this 
afternoon. They ought to bring twenty thousand, if they bring a cent, for 
they cost forty. Ah, Nellie! once abroad we will pay up for all the months 
squandered in this beastly place.” 

He took the bunch of keys, and opened the little trunk in the closet, and, 
after some rummaging, laid a jewel-case on the table. 

“ Lock the door, Nellie!” he said; and while she was doing it, he pulled 
down the blinds, so that the prying neighbors opposite could not look into 
the room. 

The jewel-case being opened, displayed only a few simple little trinkets 
of Nellie’s, but the box had a false bottom. Harding pressed one of the 
gilt nails that studded the cover, and the unset diamonds, in a dazzling 
heap, lay before him. He looked at them with flashing eyes, and then 
took up a handful, and let them run slowly through his fingers into the 
box again in a glittering shower. 

“ No more poverty ! No more cheap dinners ! No more dirty lodging- 
houses !” he cried exultantly. ‘ ‘ We shall sail now for life on a golden tide, 
Nellie, dear.” 

Bui Nellie w^as not listening. She had the tray of the jewel-box in her 
lap, and was looking through the little heap of brooches and bangles that 
lay -there. Here was a ring that had been given her by a chum at board- 
ing-school. That silver arrow was won at an archery meeting. This gold 
racket at lawn tennis. This — yes, this had been a birthday gift from 
Alice. Something like a tear splashed down on the silver filagree, work as 
she turned it over in her trembling fingers. 

“Come, Nellie! Come Nellie! Get out my coat!” cried Harding,. 


23 


TEE SHADOW OF THE BARS 


cheerily. She hurriedly put the tray away, and, wiping the tell-tale moia* 
ture from her eyes hastened to do his bidding. 

While she was brushing his coat, her husband tied the diamonds up in 
his handkerchief, and knotted it tightly, finally fastening the package, 
by a steel chain, arouml his waist. 

‘•They’ll have trouble stealing that from me,’’ he said gayly, as he 
took off his smoking-jacket and put on his coat. “To-night. Nellie, we 
shall dine at the Brunswick; so see that you look your prettiest when I come 
back. Wear that white frock — you know : the one I love to see you in; 
and I will bring some flowers home to help out.’’ 

Sh * could not fail to catch some of his enthusiasm ; but after he had 
kissed her and gone away, some of the old, despondent thoughts came back 
to her, and the room seemed full of haunting shadows, and her brain 
teemed with miserable memories Time had shown her that the god she 
hid worshipped so blindlv was of the commonest clay. Tiie dreams of 
happiness her girlish imagination had formed fell short of realization. The 
Prince Charming, who h id seemed at first an ideal lover, was already begin- 
ning to tire of her. She knew it in spite of the attempts he made, from 
tim 5 to time, to be kind. The chain galled him ; he wanted to be free 
agiin. 

The sight of that little silver brooch in the jewel-case recalled Alice. 
Poor, dear Alice! wh<‘re was she now? Still in prison, suffering for her 
sake. Nellie reached out her hand for the bottle of brandy, and took a sip 
from the glass, then a swallo w, then drained it. 

“lam looking like a ghoot.’" she said, turning towards the mirror. “ It 
will bring back some of the color. * 

She often had recourse to stimulants, to keep her thoughts down. The 
bottle was always handy, and it was so easy to drown a disagreeable mem- 
ory in the fiery liquid. Just to reach out the hand, pour out a little, and 
flash! it was gone. Ardenfield — John Garth waite — Alice— all gone ! The 
pres mt looked bright, and life again worth living. Even the room seemed 
less dingy and George— George was kind and loving. Oh, it was magical 
in its effect. It grew to be an intimate friend during the lonely days when 
she was left alone so much. 

“No use of my thinking about Ardenfield,” murmured Nellie, reaching 
out again for the bottle, --rm through with it forever I've made my 
bed. and I must lie in it. They are nothing to me now— nothing. Our 
roads lie different ways. We must never meet again — never. If George is 
only true and good to me, I shan’t think a bit of what I’ve lost.” 

She had eaten nothing that morning and the effect of the brandy was 
rapid. Soon her head drooped on her breast. Nellie sank into a heavy 
sleep. 

George Harding was walking down the Bowery, swinging his cane jaunt- 
ily, and humming a comic-opera tune over and over to himself: for he was 
already spending in imagination the money he etpeeted to get for the 
gems. He saw himself rolling along the Paris boulevards in an open 
barouche, with Nellie at his side looking beautiful in the insniration of a 
French modiste ; the admiration of every man' who passed them by, the 
envy of the laced and painted occupants’ of the cabriolets on their w/iy to 
the Bois. 

Then they would dine at some little hotel at St. Cloud or St. Gern.ain, 
and drive home in the evening through the Champs-Elvsges. undei the 
glancing leaves of the chestnut-trees, to a bijou flat overlooking the Lux- 
embourg gardens. 


TUB SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


23 


rtarding was so carried away with his dreams, tliat he stepped into a 
jeweller’s to price a ring of cat's-eyes and diamonds which lie thought he 
should like to give to Nellie after he h id sold h.s treasure. 

As he approached his destination he assumed a more dignified air. lie 
was going to talk business, and must needs appear serious 

A few (loors from the Bowery, on Llouston Street, is a buildingfilled with 
dingy ofiiees. where fortune-tellers, ch.ropodisis. and men and women of 
more doubtful calling, pursue their vocations. 

On the third tlo )r. in the back, the door beavs a rusty brass plate in- 
scribed with the name “ A. Menzer and it was here that George Harding 
rapped loudly with his c me. 

A iient old Jew, in a tattered dressing-gown, opened the door a few inches, 
and peered at him curiously. “Come in, my tear! I tought itvas an 
actor shentlemens mit a votch,’* leading the way into a d.rty back room, 
that was crowded from floor to ceiling with boxes laoeded in alpabetical 
order. 

The old man liad a pair of jeweller’s scnles in his hand, and had evi- 
dently been weighing some broken gold settings that encumbered the 
table. 

“Yon don’t remember mo. do yon, Menzer?’ asked Harding, standing 
where the light from the dirty window woidd fall on Ids face. 

“Shust as if I could forget you, my tear! Havmi’t 1 got your peautiful 
votch unt chain Uiit pin dot you left for s.ife-keeping mit your kint olt 
trient Menzer d’ 

“ I’m glad you haven’t sold them, Menzer, because I want to buy every- 
thing." 

“Is dot so? Veil I tought yon vonld. 'Yy. it was only yeshterday a 
shentlemens come to me unt shay dot h(i vant to buy dot voteh you left 
mit me, nnt offered me tvice vot I pay you fer it; but I say, ‘ No! I don’t do 
bishness dot vay ’ I say ‘ By unt by Mr. H ird.ng come along mit plenty 
of monish, nnt he pay me tvice so much for dot votch unt den say — 
“ Here, my tear frient Menzer ! .Here my good frient lenzer ! Here vos 
fifty tollars for being so hom'st.’’ ’ ’’ 

Well, we'll see about that after a W'hile." said Harding, who was in a 
hurry to feel some money in his pocket. ‘‘ I came here on business." 

“ Bishness? Dot’s right!” said the Jew. seating himself in a chair, and 
sorting over some loose gems in a box on the table near him. Vot kind 
of bishness vos dot ?" 

“ I have with me about fifty of the finest unset diamonds you have seen 
for many a diy. I am going to rail hard this tim^ Menzer," with a gay 
laugh. “ Get out all the money in the shop, for . o i will need it if you 
expect to make a deal.’’ 

‘•So.’’ remarked the Jew. still sorting his jewels calmlv, and not at all 
overpowered by the news. “ Let your olt frient Menzer look at dose beau- 
tihil diamants. my tear." 

“ You’ll open your eyes, old man. You’ve never handled such a set in 
your life. They are Old Mine gems of the first water-been in the family 
for half a century." 

Ho unclasped the chain from his waist, and laid the package on the table. 
Menzer displayed no interest whatever, but kept on sorting the stones in 
the box, as if his life depended on the task. 

When Harding cut the handkerchief open and displayed the sparkling 
heap, that sent out shafts of light he turned around slowly in his chair. 
“Now tell me, if you dare,’’ said the young man, “if you have ever 


24 


THE ISIIADOW OF THE BAllS. 


liandled or seen any] such lot of diamonds. Be honest, now, you old ras- 
cal !’’ gayly. 

Menzer took the stones up carefully and washed them in a glass of water 
on the mantel-piece to see if they were coated ; and then dried each one on 
the corner of his dressing-gown — a performance which Harding watched 
with undisguised impatience, longing to feel the fortune in his grasp. 

“ Dese shtones must haf cost a great teal, my tear,” slowly drying the 
last one and laying it among the others on the handkerchief — “a great 
teal of monish.” 

“About fifty thousand dollars,” the young man replied hastily ; “that 
biggest diamond is said to be the finest in America.” 

“Shust so!” echoed the old Jew, as he examined one of the stones 
through a microscope, after flinging open the shutters wide enough to 
admit more light. 

After th(^ inspection, he turned round, and looked Harding over from head 
to foot in a quizzical way, slowly and deliberately, as if he were estimating 
the young man too, along with the gems. 

“ Well ! well ! what are you staring at me for?” growing uneasy under 
the old dealer’s gaze^ “What’s the matter with you ? Do you think I 
stole those jewels, you scoundrel ?” 

“You VOS not such a fool,” said Menzer, laying his claw-like hand over 
the glittering heap. “ Dese diamants, vot you call ’em, vos paste !” 


CHAPTER IV. 
fortune’s see-saw. 

Harding slowly unclasped his fingers from Menzer’s throat. The old 
man sank into a chair, wheezing and coughing feebly. “ You vill hef your 
leetle shoke,” he murmured, passing his withered hand over his wind-pipe, 
to see if it was not twisted out of shape. 

“ Are you tolling me the truth about these stones ?” asked Harding, trying 
to think that the Jew was playing with him. 

‘ ‘ S’help me, I vouldn’t gif ten shents a piece for tern shooles, my tear. Off 
you ton’t pelieve your uncle Abe, go ant try Isaacs, on de corner. He vill 
tell you dey vos only Rhine shtones, defer imitashuns of diamants, my 
tear, but only Rhine shtones.” 

'Harding sat down with a sickening sensation of despair and looked 
around the room vaguely. He had built so much on that little fortune, he 
had spent so much of it in his imagination, that he could hardlyjrealize that 
it liad faded forever from his sight like a golden mirage. 

And this heap of worthless stones, this glittering rubbish, was what he had 
scliemed and toiled and sinned and suffered for these many months. The 
elusive gleam of these false gems had led him to burden himself with Nellie, 
had drawn him into crime to possess them — these worthless baubles that 
now glittered before him with a baleful light, and seemed to mock his 
misery. 

His dreams of delight faded away in the darkness of despair. Good-by, 
Paris, and the pleasures of the gay capital, the rides in the Bois, the dinners 
at Durand’s 1 He was a peuuiless adventurer again, harassed with debts, 
and encumbered with a pretty, though offensively affectionate, woman. He 
groaned in spirit. 


THt] SHADOW OF THE BARS, 


25 


Still, if these were bogus diamonds, what had become of tlie real family 
jewels that had been in the Comstock family for half a century ? It was not 
possible that Nellie had substituted the false for the real ? That was absurd. 
He asked the Jew’s opinion, giving him a somewhat revised version of how 
the jewels came into his possession. 

Menzer laughed long and loud. 

“My tear, tis vos an old shtory. You say teese shooles hef been a long 
vile in dot femlies. Vot kint off a men vos dot hushband, eh?” 

“Well, he was one of the boys — drove fast horses — belonged to the best 
clubs, and was fond of a lazy, luxurious life.” 

“So? Veil, he could tell you vot became of dose shooles. He got in 
debt — he porrowed dose necklace mit de pretense of getting deni mented. 
He did fix ’em. He put paste diamants in place of dose real vons. He 
return dot necklace to his vife, unt she nor nobody elshe know de difference; 
ain't it?” with a grin. 

“Oh, my tear, dis vos a viked verlt, unt your uncle Abe knows it better 
als somebody else. It pays to be honest !” with a knowing leer, as he 
returned to his work of sorting the loose stones in the box; while Harding 
watched him with a blank expression on his face. 

Now, he knew why the search for those diamonds had been given up so 
soon. Since the robbery, Mr. Comstock had died, and had probably con- 
fessed to his wife that ft was useless to search longer for paste jewels. So 
she had gone away to Europe and said no more about them. 

Well, what was the -use of crying over a pricked bubble ? His castle in 
Spain had crumbled into dust; the pot of rainbow gold was just as far away 
as ever. 

He must turn his wits to something else. 

“Menzer, I want you to lend me two hundred dollars,” he said abruptly. 

“On vot security?” asked the old man, rummaging noisily in his box. 

“I’ll give you a note for it on three months’ time. You can make it out 
for any amount you want.” 

“On vat security did you shay?” 

“Security — security — why, my word ! I haven’t got ten cents’ worth of 
jewelry in my possession,” bitterly, “or you should have it. Come, don’t 
be so mean— you’ve made lots of money out of me, and will probably make 
more. You — ” 

“I vill gif you tot money on von condishon.” 

“What is it?” 

“You go about a goot teal, my tear — you know lots off club-men. You 
can fint out ven dey lose at karts, or ven dey vos broke trough extrava- 
gance. Veil, you can say to dem on de shly dot it vos so easy to get 
monish. Dot you hef no trubbles at all. You yust go to your tear freint, 
Mr. Mentzer, unt sign a leetle papers, unt gome avay mit your pockets full 
off golt— ain’t it?" with a grin. 

“I see, I see ! You want me to drum up trade for you — you old Shy- 
lock ! Well, I’d make a bargain with the devil himself under the circum- 
stances. Come, give me the money.” 

The Jew, after much fumbling around, produced a key from a mysterious 
pocket in the dressing-gown, and then opened a safe in the wall and drew 
out a steel cash-box. 

“ I don't often do such peesness,” he grumbled. 

While he was laboriously counting out the money, he gave Harding a 
paper to sign. 

“You shall haf fife per shent commission on cfery gustonier you sent 


26 


TEE SHADOW OF TEE BARS. 


me,” said Menzer, folding up the receipt carefulh', and stowing it away in 
one of the liitle iron drawe.s at tlie back of the safe. “ Dere is no reason, 
my tear, vy you shouldn't make a goot living out of your uncle Abe.” 

Harding" now that he was snj)plied with money, w^s in a more cheerful 
mood, and hope again revived. The sight of the diamonds on the tab’e, 
hovvever, was a reminder of what he htid lost. So he gatiiered them up, 
and dropped tlumi loosely into his pock(‘t. 

“ Well, old cent-per-cent !” he cried, digging the old man playfully in 
the ribs, “you will hear from me betore liie sum/ner's over. 1 e.xpect to 
go dovvn to the sea-shore, and dare say there will be lots of losers on the 
r ces tnat I can plump inio your net.” 

“Dot's right, my tear I 1 vish yon goot luck! Remember dose commis- 
sions. Your unc e Abe vill make a rich man of you yet,” rubbing his 
hands together, as he showed his visiior the way out. 

“Not a bad day a ter all,” said itardiiig. as he stumbled h's way down 
the crooked stairs. “With very lilt e work 1 can send the Jew lots of 
customers to tieece at his leisure. Bother the diamonds ! If I only had 
Nellie off my liands, I could dance a hornpipe. 8he, confound her. is too 
conscientious and scrupu.ous to be a mate for a gay bird l.ke me. Fortune, 
you old she-dev.l ! you thought you had me on tiie liip when yOu fooled me 
ab ant those gem-;, but. d you. I'll down you yet!” 

He had recovered his {uniable smile l)y the time he reached Broadway, 
and swung Jauntily along in the direction of up-town. He kept one hand 
in his pocKet to fnmb e ih(‘ bills with, for it served to keep his spirits up. 

He was gelt' ng hungry now, and began planning where he should take 
an exi)ensive lunch, as he walked along, to ce.ebrate the new instalment of 
hope lie had just received. 

H(^ did not waste much thought on poor Nellie, who was probably lunch- 
ing off a p:ec(* of boiled b “ef. a liloek of bread, and a sodden potato. 

Harding finally decidefl lu* would try the Morton House for his repast. 
A little soui), a bit of fish and entree, and a pint of Sauterne would do 
famously. 

Piercing with difficulty the crowd of actors on the corner, he ran into a 
man who was Just leaving the restaurant. Turni.ig to apologize, their eyes 
met, and the stranger burst into a loud laugh. 

“Why. it can't be. no— yes — it is,” extending his hand. “Why. it’s 
George Harding! I thought you were in Europe?” 

“I came back,” said Harding: “but come in and get some lunch,” pulling 
him by tin' arm; “ I was just going to have a bite.” 

“Thanks, but I've just lunched: I’ll go in and look at you eat, though, 
for you were the very man I was wishing to see.’’ 

“Same to you,” said Harding, gayly, leading the w*ay into the caf4 of the 
hotel. 

“ I made a tour of the clubs, but you hadn’t been heard of for a year or 
more," said the blonde-haired stranger, as they sat down at the table, and 
H irding ordered his lunch. “ I was afi-aid you hal cut loose from society, 
and had married a milk-maid and gone to the country to enjoy Arcadian 
bliss.” 

“Well, thit's hardly my style. Varley,” said Harding, with a laugh. 
“Was it anything particular that you wanted to see me about?” 

“Yes, it was just tliis- but first I must ask you if you have made any 
arrangements about spending the summer?” 

“ No - 0 , not yet! ’ thiuking with a grimace of the Twelfth Street lodg- 
Isg-housfc 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


27 


“Well, don’t, then. I want you to come down and ^pend a few months 
at my fishing lodge, on Mauasquau Inlet. You can hunt, or loaf, or fish, 
or — " 

“Or flirt?” 

“Yes, or flirt. I go down there principally to oblige my aunt, Mrs. 
Ralston. As I am to be her heir, I ha\e to be dutiful. She has the hand- 
somest cottage in the neighborhood, and stocks it up, generally, every sum- 
mer, witl) pretty girls. 1 don't know where they come from, but I think 
it is her fell intent to marry me off to some of ’em. You will have to look 
out for yourself if you come dowm, or some of thi'ra will kidnap you.” 

“Oh. I’m proof against matrimony ! ’ laughed Harding. “My heart has 
all the modern improvements— compensated balance, nickel plated works, 
and adjusted to heat and cold ” 

“Well, will \ou come?” 

“Nothing would suit me better, old fel !” 

“ I was on my way to the train whe n we eollidcd.” 

“As soon as I can throw my things together, I will come and fatten at 
your expense.” 

“Right!'’ said Varley; “and now’ I must be going,'’ looking at the 
clock. “You'll find that four o'clock is a quick train, whenever you want 
to go.” 

They part< d in the most friendly fashion; and Harding, who was now’ in 
a glow’ of good-humor, returned to his lunch wdth an increased appetite, 
and orderc'd another bottle of wine to celebrate the new’ rise in fortune. 

What a day ir had been for him, to be sure 1 Beginning with clouds and 
ending w’ith a pyrotechn.cal display. But there was Nellie— confound it 
all. there w’as Nellie ! What was he going to do with her? 

He chewed slow ly now’, b(*cause he was trying to masticate that disagree- 
able problem at the same time. 

Was he to give up all the pleasures of a delightful summer in a lovely 
villa, and stew’ in Mrs. Grubbins's dirty apartments with a mewling woman 
for company ? Charming pi ospect ! 

To take her dow’n to the sea-shore w’as impossible— that was certain. If 
he told her he was going away, there would be a scene; he w’ould be wept 
over, strangled with embraces, and affectionately maltreated. 

Three things were certain; he would not take her with him; he could 
not say good-by to her; he w’ould not let her know’ where he was goii g. 

What a bother she w’as anyway ! Why he, a man of the world, hao been 
fool enouirh to throw- himself aw-ay for a silly little school-girl, he was 
unable just then to determine. But the sweet-broads were getting cold. 

Over the coffee and cognac he made up his mind what to do. He would 
buy a portmanteau, pack it full of clothes, and take the four-o'clock train 
for Point Pleasant. ' 

He paid his bill, and walked into the messenger office, next door, where 
he wrote this note: 

“ D ^AR Nell: — Have been called aw’ay West, suddenly, on business Will 
write particulars to-morrow’. Enclose money for rent; make it go as far 
as you can. 

George.” 

He dropned a fifty-dollar bill into the envelope, sealed and directed it, 
and turned into the street again, whistling merrily, and conscious of having 
done the liberal thing. 

“She can pay Mrs. Grubbins something on account,” he soliloquized-* 


28 


THE SIIABOW OF THE BAliS. 


“say ten dollars. That will leave her forty — and — and — when that’s gone, 
— well, when that’s gone I may be able to send her some more, or — or — I 
dare say that old pen-pusher would be willing to take her back, if she is 
a little shop-worn.” And dismissing Nellie lightly from his mind, he 
started smilingly on his shopping tour. 

He had always been fastidious about his clothes when in funds, and as it 
had been a long time since he had indulged his fancies, he bought such a 
prodigious quantity of silk underwear and neekties, that a trunk was needed 
to ])ut them in. 

His money was rapidly disappearing for fashionable gim-cracks; but he 
comforted himself with the thought that Menzer would help him out if he 
got into a financial hole, and that Varley might be relied on for several 
fat loans. 

At last the trunk was packed to the top and locked, and set up on the 
box of the carriage that was to carry him to the depot. It was late, and 
he had just time to catch the ferry that met the four-o’clock train. 

“Oh, to be somewhere down by the sea!” he sang gayly, as the boat 
moved out of the docks. He felt as if he was leaving all his troubles 
behind him, pent up in the dirty city, and blew a kiss towards its smoky 
shores as the ferry swung out with the tide. 

There was a rush to catch the train at the Jersey City depot. Harding 
hated a crowd, and was leisurely taking his time, when the warning beU 
was heard. 

* Every seat seemed occupied when he jumped on board, but after roam- 
ing the length of the train he found one next to a young lady in mourning, 
who was reading a newspaper. He sat down with a feeling of relief, for 
he was tired with the excitement of the day; and the prospect of standing 
all the way to Point Pleasant was not a cheerful thought. Perhaps he 
might have been willing to wait for another train if he had known the 
young lady was Alice Valton. 


CHAPTER V. 

A DIVIDED HOUSE. 

Mrs. Ralston’s villa at Point Pleasant stood on a bluff overlooking the 
green waters of the inlet; a wild jumble of Queen Anne architecture that 
might have been designed under the influence of delirium tremens. 

The roof was fluted and gabled, and humped and twisted with as many 
eccentric curves and angles as the frosting on a eake. Every room had a 
balcony or a bay-window;. and the entire house was full of delightful 
corners that could be crowded with bric-a-brac. 

In spite of the outrageous architecture, the villa and its grounds was a 
charming spot in warm weather. Just far enough away from the sea to be 
out of reach of the driving mists, and where fine old trees had soil in which 
to thrive, instead of the little scrub pines that surrounded the cottages by 
the beach. 

Flowers bloomed on the green parterres that sloped to the waters’ edge; 
and in a miniature lake in the centre of the velvety lawn some swans 
floated on the blue waters like white clouds across a summer sky. 

For a fortnight Alice had occupied the little blue room facing the Atlan- 
tic. In the peace and quiet of this paradise by the sea, the sufferings she 
had undergone seemed slowly fading away into the oblivion of memory. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


29 


She was only twenty-two— at an age wlien hope is strong and sorrows 
leave no lasting sear. The thoughts of that wretched year in her life came 
back like the shadows of vaguely remembered dreams, bringing a shudder, 
but passing quietly away. 

She had no reason to complain that her duties were onerous. Mrs. 
Ralston had not spent a happy girlhood herself, and for that reason she 
liked to surround herself with young people, and loved to study their ways 
and wants and pleasures. 

She was a bright-eyed, cheery little body, with laughing lips and a soft, 
roly-poly figure, full of soft curves and gentle undulations. She was thirty- 
eight, but time had dealt kindly with her, and the autumn of her life still 
preserved the richness and bloom of many departed summers. 

As for Alice, her lot could not have been cast in a more pleasant place; 
for her duties were the lightest, and Mrs. Ralston was anything but ex- 
acting. 

A little writing, a song or two in the evening, was the sum total of the 
tasks that were set for her; and her position in the villa was in perfect 
equality with the others. 

In starting out in her new life she had taken her mother’s name, and as 
Alice Tyrell she was known to the guests at Villa Eden. The strangeness 
of her position, living under an assumed name, had its terrors at first for 
such a sensitive spirit; but she soon grew accustomed to the change, and 
in many other ways she tried to blot out the past. 

Yet an uneasy feeling sometimes mingled with her thoughts. A dread 
foreboding that the peace she now enjoyed would be of short duration. It 
is hard to tell why such thoughts possessed her. Could it have been that 
she saw danger in the interest that Clinton Yarley took in her welfare ? 
Was the friendship that had grown so dear to her a treacherous path that 
would lead to despair at last ? 

Since she had exchanged a few words with Harding on the train, over a 
newspaper, she had met him frequently. The fishing lodge was at the foot 
of the lawn, and, consequently, he spent as much time at Villa Eden as Mrs. 
Ralston’s nephew. 

There was something about the man— she would have been at pains 
to define just what — that made her shrink from him. He was always 
courteously polite in his manner, and had become a prime favorite with the 
widow and Varley; so it was difficult for her to show him openly how much 
she disliked his attentions. 

If Harding noticed at all the attempts she made to avoid him, he did not 
show it; for as time passed, he became more assiduous than ever, and it 
seemed that she could never go out walking alone without coming upon 
him during the course of her rambles. 

Grateful as she was for the home she enjoyed through Mrs. Ralston’s 
kindness, she saw it would be a piece of rank ingratitude to show her 
repugnance for one of their intimate friends; so she tried to be polite when- 
ever they met. 

Mrs. Ralston sat by a little Sorrento table one morning on the broad 
piazza, inditing some invitations to a garden party she intended giving the 
coming week. A fresh land-breeze rippled through the bamboo slats, that 
swung to and fro and shaded the corner in which the widow had deposited 
her plump form, and stirred the elaborate curls on her white forehead 
caressingly. 

“ It’s so hard to get up anything in this out-of-the-way place,’’ she said, 
half to herself and half to Alice, who was reading in a wicker cliair.opposite. 


80 


TEE SHADOW OF TEE BARS, 


‘•I only want about thirty couples, but figure as I will I can't make up the 
number. Women are u drug in the inarivet. I want men. Alice, what a 
pity it is you are uot a man !” 

Fm su! e I wish I was !” raising her eyes from her book and looking out 
on the water. 

“ I think itw’ould be a real philanthropic idea to found a company to 
supply summer resoris with eligible young men. Fm sure Clinton and Mr. 
H irding will be ruined by the attention they are getting. When they 
attend a hop at the notel, *1 understand the young ladies get in line, like a 
first night at a theatre, in order to secure part of a waliz.” 

•*I think Clints grOA’n insufferably conceited since he came down 
here.” said Lelia Ferris, a niece of Mrs. Ralston, who sat perched up on 
the railing of the piazza swinging her lieds. ‘ There will be no living with 
him unless he is snubbed Yer\ soon. 1 have made up my mind to do it, if 
no one else will.” running her hands through her fluffy curls. 

M ss Ferris was an only child and had l)ecn spoilt all her life by an in- 
d'llging mamma. 8iie aimed to be fast, and dressed in a horsey style. 
Racing talk charmed her, and she dressed as gay y as a jockey. 'J'o day a 
startling lawn-tennis suit of black and orange covered a form as supple as 
the riding- whip she w’as swishing flies with. 

Fra afraid a sniib from you, Lelia, would fail in its effect.” said Mrs. 
Ralston, wiping her ch. ek delicately, so as not to disturb the enamel. “ He 
mast be first desperately in love, and then sat upon, iu order to crush his 
self-esteem.” 

Lelia frowned and looked at Alice, and tapped nervously on the railing 
with her whip. 

She wanted to ask if there \vas anything so very absurd about Varley's 
being d(‘sperately in love with her, but lefrainetl. 

‘•Weil, Fm at my wits’ end,” said Mrs. Ralston, shaking out the folds of 
her blue cashmere wrapper, and biting the nib of her pen. “ It's w’orse 
th in the fifteen puzzle. I shall have to ask every male to bring tw’o 
femal s ” 

“ They won't come !''said Lelia. ‘‘ or if they do. they'll bolt befo’*e supper 
time, and hunt cover. What man wants to wait on a pair of hungry 
women this kind of weather r” 

But, you evasper iting child, can't you see I am under obligations to 
these ladu'S. and can't leave them out ?” 

“ Better postpone your party till tl.ey get engaged or married,” said the 
irrepressible Lelia. “ Perhaps w’e mig it draw on the w^aiters at the hotel 
for male supplies. I believe there is a Count among the number, and I 
dare say several German Barons,” wiiit a gurgling laugh. 

“ Now. what are y mi people wTangling about ?” called out Varley, as he 
trippe 1 up the .steps close followed by Harding. They had both bi en fish- 
ing since early morning, and looked tired and sunburnt in their flannel 
suits. 

“ It's too w’arm to talk about anything but poetry; so obligingly change 
the subject or we w’ill leave you.” 

•* In the first place, Clint, you were never asked to join the debate,” said 
Miss Ferris, who.se face had lighted up on her cousin's arrival. “ But vou 
can stay if you behave yourselves,” striking at him playfully with her w’hip. 

Thanks. Harding, ring that bed and ask Dawkins to send out a pitcher 
of claret punch. Now,” stretching himself out on a steamboat chair, “ is 
it possible the absorbing topic of that lawn party is still agitating your 
curly heads ?” 


TEE SEADOVr OF TEE BALS. 


SI 


“ want more m^'n !’’ exclaimed the widow, pathctioaliy. 

“ Yes, more men !” said J.,elia. ** We have dtcidecl you have hnd the 
field long enough, and t.iat you ought to be scratched, e are going to 
buy the field against the favorites.” 

“ Well, if it is only a fevV men you want why. I ean settle that question 
in a minute. To tell the truth, Harding and i are getting tir^d oi being 
the belies at every festive occiision.” 

“ Indeed !” from LeLa. “ Vv^iiat a martyrdom !” 

‘•Just so, my dear cousin. So, for th:s affair 1 intend to import some 
fellows from New York. They will stop at the lodge, and I snail hustle 
them back in the morning.” 

“Clinton, you have saved me !” said Mrs. Halston, oe^tatically. ‘-I was 
just thinking I should have to giv^e up the w ;ole affair.” 

‘ You see iDvinucn trouble I can spare you ladies by joining your 
counsels, ’’stopping in the midst of his speech to toss off a glass of tue pancli 
that was just being passed around. 

“I don’t know that we want to be spared,” said his cousin. “ I’m sure 
we ought to be thankful to have something to talk al)oat in this dreary 
pi ice. I’ve had this dress made over half ado:.eii tim^s just to iiavesonie- 
ihing to talk about to the dressmaker.” 

“ I don’t see why the women need a topic of con ver.sat ion here; they can 
always talk about eich other.” grumbled Varley. “ You are never satis- 
ficvl, Lelia, unless you have a dozen young men at yonr feet. I don’t think 
we could amuse a lady of your spoitliig teiideiieics with anytliing sao..t 
of a fox-hunt.” 

“ Well, would that be impossible?” 

“ No, not impo.ssibli‘; but I tiiink a husband-hunt would be more popular. 
Get an eligible young man, and give him a good start, and then have tho 
matrimonially inclined young ladies chase him over the sand-hills. Who- 
ever captunal him would marry him.” 

“ How charming ! I .suppose you would like to be the fox.” Gho got 
down from her perch and began e'hat ting with Harding, who had not joiiiud 
in the conversation except to say a few worxls to Alice. 

“ You don't seem to take much interest ia the coming fete. Miss Tyrell,” 
said Varley, drawing up a chair i.ear her. 

“1 am not well enough informed about society matters to venture to 
offer any suggestions.” she said, looking up from her book with a smile. 
“ You know I have spent my life in a miserable litile country town, where 
the wildest dissipation was a church festival or a picnic. I have to feel 
my way, now that 1 am in tho polite world, for fiiar of making mistakes.” 

“Well, ’pon my life ! 1 could never think of you as a simple village 
maid,” looking down admiringly into the soft brown eyes, “with a red 
petticoat and a milking stool, and a short horned Durham by way of back- 
ground.” 

“ H.ive I, then, such a worldly-wise air?” she ash*ed, with a short little 
laugh. 

“ No-o; I don’t mean that, and I hope yon never will become so worldly 
as to lose your womanliness— like - like — someone we I now,” inclininghis 
head in the direction of Lelia and Harding vho were in animated conver- 
sation. 

“ You strike mo as a young lady who Ins learned the lesson of life 
throuo’h sonn sad experience — forgive me !” i e exelaimcvl, as he saw her 
cheek'paling. “I am a brute. 1 forgot. I did not remember that you 
were still in mourning.” _ 


82 


THE SIIALOW OF THE BARS. 


is nothing,” slie said quickly. Somehow his words had sent her 
thoughts wandering back into a dreary by-way of memory. “Have you 
read this book, Mr. Varley ?” holding up the paper-bound novel she was 
reading. “ I believe it is quite the rage this summer.” 

“ ‘ Covered Up,’ ” reading the title. “No; what is it about ? I’m not very 
fond of the ordinary summer novel.” 

“It is about a woman whose past was clouded with mistakes and mis- 
fortunes. She falls in love, and marries the man of her choice without tell- 
ing him of her early life. She loves him so much that she dares not 
speak.” 

“ And then ?” he asks. 

“And then he gradually learns the truth from other lips. He cannot, 
will not forgive her for deceiving him. He casts her off — banishes her 
from his heart and home forever.” 

“ Serve her right. ” 

“1)0 you think so, Mr. Varley ?” bending her eyes earnestly toward him. 

‘ ‘ I should have expected more generous sentiments, more compassion from 
you,” she added, a little sadly. 

“ I do believe in justice,” said Varley; “ but I think when people marry 
each other, they ought to start square, with a clean ledger before them. 
Two people can never live in such intimate relationship with the black 
chasm of a secret always between them. If she really loved that man un- 
selfishly, she should have told him everything, and he would have, in all 
probability, forgiven her. It was the deceit that led him to discard her.” 

Alice’s heart beat painfully, she knew not why. Mrs. Kalston was 
drowzing in her chair, looking cool and comfortable. From the flowering 
parterre came the drone of bees and the soft plash of the water against the 
banks. 

“And if this woman had suffered all her life,” she continued with 
animation, while a bright spot burned in either cheek — “if God had 
willed that she should sound the depths of misery and despair, and suffer 
a martyrdom, perhaps through no fault of her own, and if at last she 
met one kind being who loved her, who came like an oasis in the arid 
deserts of her life, could you not find pity for her if she hesitated to 
jeopardize her hopes of happiness? Was it strange that she trembled at 
the thought of losing a love she had hungered and prayed for so long?” 

“Why, Miss Tyrell,” he cried, studying her animated face, “I had no 
idea you could be so eloquent. Were you defending yourself instead of 
this poor heroine in the story, you could not have put more feeling in your 
words.” 

Her eyes fell, and she turned her head guiltily away. If he. knew ! Var- 
ley instinctively felt that somehow he had stirred up some unpleasant 
memories, for he hastened to change the subject. 

“I see that Lelia and Harding have wandered away down to the water. 
I don’t know but it is cooler down there. Suppose we try the shade of one 
of those trees. Aunt Mary, I am sure, is good for an hour’s doze,” looking 
in the direction of Mrs. Kalston, wdio seemed to have settled down for a 
siesta. 

So they stroll down the terraces to the river bank, and Varley gathers 
some of the fresh-cut grass that is lying about in heaps, and makes Alice 
a comfortable seat under the shade of the maple, and throws himself in a 
lazy attitude at her side. The waters glide noiselessly along at their feet, 
and the air is warm, and odorous of the sea and the flowers. 

“You haven’t said a word in ten minutes, Mr. Harding,” says Lelia^ 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAllS. 


3:1 

Ferris, tapping her tiny foot impatiently on the floor of the summer- 
house. 

“ Haven’t I?” he asks vaguely, more interested in watching the move- 
ments of the couple under the tree. 

“ No, you haven’t. If I were you I wouldn’t show my hand so soon.” 

“ What do you mean hy that ?” half turning around. 

“Why, I mean you are in love, Mr. George Harding, with that white' 
■faced little Alice Tyrell,” kicking a stone away viciously, “ and you haven’t 
the art of hiding your jealousy of Varley’s attentions, and you need not 
think you can deceive me.” 

“ Hah ! that’s good — me in love!” with a laugh. “ I got through with 
such things long ago.” 

“Well, you have entered for a new handicap,” she persists, “ and, if I’m 
not mistaken, it will be a dead heat.” 

He bites his lip, and frowns, as his eyes again fall on the couple under the 
tree. 

“ Well, and suppose I acknowledge the accusation — what then ?” 

“Oh, nothing,” shrugging her shoulders; “but I don’t see what a man 
of the world finds to admire in a demure little doll like that. I should 
think he would want some dash.” 

“ He admires dash, it is true, but he doesn’t fall in love with it.” 

“I suppose that remark was intended to be personal,” cuttingly. “If 
you intend to insult me, I will go back to the house,” she says, with the 
pettishness of a spoilt child. 

He turns and faces her with a laugh that only tends to make her more 
angry. 

‘ ‘ See here, IHiss Ferris, we cannot afford to quarrel, for the very reason 
that we are bound together by the common ties of sympathy.” 

“ What do you mean ?” angrily. 

“You have accused me of being in love with Alice Tyrell.” 

“Yes.” 

“ I acknowledge it.” 

“Yes.” 

“And make a counter-accusation against you. You arc in love with 
Clinton Varley. There — there,” as she is about to speak, “no denial! 
If you have had the perspicacity to read my heart, I have been none the 
less interested in evolving the mysteries of yours and he laughs boister- 
ously. “ You will see, therefore, my dear iMiss Ferris, that we have every- 
thing to gain by joining forces. We are at present out of sight of land; 
but by dint of careful steering, and taking turns at the wheel, we may yet 
reach the happy isles— do you see ?” 

“Yes,” quavers Lelia, sitting down on her foot. She is subdued. 

“I have been weaving a romance about our neighbors in the sumnu'r- 
house,” says Varley, as he hears Harding’s noisy laugh. “They do seem 
to have a great deal to say to each other for a fortnight’s acquaintance.” 

“1)0 you think so?” asks Alice, a little doubtfully, glad to think that she 
may have been mistaken about Harding’s attentions. 

“Fate has certainly dealt the cards wrong,” Harding is saying to Lelia, 
who has recovered her nonchalance and become friendly again. 

“ Yes,” she answers slowly, turning in the direction to which his eyes 
wander. “ We must shuffle them over and cut for a new deal.” 

“ Luncheon !” pipes Mrs. Halston from the terrace. 


34 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

DESERTED. 

It was late in the afternoon when Nellie awoke. Her head was aching 
horribly. The face she saw in the glass was flushed and swollen, and her 
eyes rimmed with red. 

“ I must not let George see me looking like this,” noting that the hands 
of the clock pointed to the hour of four. She hastened to bathe her heated 
face in a basin of water, and after dusting her cheeks with some rice 
powder and just a suspicion of rouge., she looked strangely altered for the 
better. She was fixing her hair before the glass, when she noticed for the 
first time the telegram that he had sent her lying on the table. Some one 
had left it there while she was sleeping. 

Her hands trembled strangely as she tried to open it with fumbling, 
nervous fingers. She read the few short sentences over and over again, 
and then looked dumbly at the fifty-dollar bill that had fallen out on the 
floor. 

“ Not a word about coming back,” she murmured, her eyes still fastened 
on the writing, as if she were trying to extract some hope from the passion- 
less words. Then she suddenly sprang to her feet with flashing eyes. “ I 
see it all now — all! He has sold those diamonds, and is running away with 
the money — perhaps with another woman. He has ceased to love me. I 
have seen that of late. He longed to be free of me, and now that the 
diamonds are sold, he deserts me— deserts me! Me, who sinned for his 
sake ; who gave up home and friends and happiness for his sake ! 
Deserts me! Deserts me!” walking up and down the room with quick, 
nervous strides. “O Alice! Alice! for what a wretch I sacrificed your 
life and happiness!” 

So for some minutes she paces up and down the room, with flushed face 
and wild, despairing eyes. At length she pauses before the table, and her 
hand goes out towards the bottle, feeling for it doubtfully. ‘Then she 
draws it slowly back again, and looks around the room in a half-affrighted 
way, as if she were committing a theft and feared a surprise. 

She walks away from the table a few paces and stands in doubt; then 
walks around it and repeats the same i)erformance again and again. The 
sight of the bottle possesses a terrible fascination for her. She turns her 
eyes away, but they soon revert again to the red-brown fluid in the glass. At 
last her glance falls on Harding’s note on the floor. A resolute look flashes 
in her eyes. She walks towards the table, and with trembling fingers and 
averted head takes the bottle and locks it up in her drawer. “Not to- 
day— not to-day!” from between her clinched teeth, as she looks again at 
the note by her feet. “ There is fire enough in my heart already. I need 
no fuel to make it burn,” laying her hand tightly against her breast, as if 
in pain. Then she resumes her walk up and down the room, trembling, 
quivering, after that triumph over temptation. 

Finally she stops before the closet, and, taking out her walking-dress and 
shoes, begins to dress hastily, talking feverishly to herself as she does so. 

“ lie shall know— he shall know that I am not to be duped so easily. 
That he cannot rob me, and then desert me. I am good enough to do his 
dirty work, to sin and steal for him ; but now that he has made all he can 
out of me, I am thrown aside like a soiled glove.” 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 35 

Slie twists her soft bright hair into a simple Grecian knot, and begins 
buttoning her dress with nervous, trembling fingers. 

“There maybe time to stop him yet,” looking anxiously at the clock. 
“I know some of his resorts. They will tell me where he has gone. If 
he has left the city — if he has left the country, I will follow him, if 1 have 
to beg and steal my way. And when we meet, and meet we surely shall 
some day, he shall pay me for this. AVretch! Beast! He shall pay me. It 
is not a school-girl he has to deal with now; not the simpleton who wor- 
shipped him. It is a jealous woman. He knows how I can love; he shall 
learn how I can hate.” 

She finished buttoning her shoes, not without snapping off half the 
buttons in her haste. Her lips were moving tremulously as she stood 
before the glass, and tied the ribbons of a piquant little beaded bonnet 
under her soft dimpled chin. 

Her eyes burned with changing fires, and her lips were red as sealing- 
wax. Hate had transformed tliis lily into a royal rose. 

As she was about to leave the room her eyes fell on a cabinet photograph 
of Harding, in a rococo frame on the mantelpiece. It had been a present 
to her from him in the early days of their wooing, but now the sight of it 
stirred her rage afresh. 

She threw it on the floor and stamped on it savagely. 

“ I wish this was really you!” she murmured, grinding the fragile thing 
to pieces with her heel. 

Then, without looking around again, she hurried from the room and 
down the stairs in a fever of excitement. 

A smooth-shaven man of about forty, in a loud check suit, set off by a 
green necktie, was just coming up the steps; and she almost ran him 
down. 

“ Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Harding,” he cried, lifting liis greasy hat with an 
elaborate bow, and exhibiting a wide expanse of bald head. “ 1 have been 
hoping you would give me a call this week. I have got just the burlesque 
to suit you,” running his eyes over her critically, from the French heels to 
the ostrich tip on her hat. “ You would be sure to make a hit in it.” 

“1 am going to star in a drama of my own,” she said with a grim 
humor, “called ‘The Avenger,’” hurrying away before he had a chance 
to reply. 

“Queer woman, that!” said the theatrical agent, running his hands 
thoughtfully around the rim of Jiis hat. “But she’d make a rip-roarin’ 
success in a leg show, or I’m a liar,” and he lounged into a den on the first 
floor, where two young ladies who had run away from their parents to go 
on the stage were waiting to see him. 

<. Nellie tried first a poker club on Fourth Avenue where Harding was 
^sometimes in the habit of going. The colored man in livery who opened 
the door looked at her askance; but she pushed by him without a w'ord, and 
j)lunged into the card-room, wdiere half a dozen men w^ere seated over a 
game of poker. Some looked up, but the sight of a w'oman there w'as not 
an uncommon thing evidently, for they soon returned to their play. 

A military man with spiked gray mustache, wiio leaned on the side- 
board, asked her if he could do anything. He listened and smiled. 

“ You wxre here the other day, w^re you not?” he asked. She shook 
her head dumbly. 

“I know the nigger told me a young lady had called to ask for Mr. 
Harding. And I thought he said she w’as a blonde,” with a knowing leer. 

Nellie gritted her teeth. This w'as undoubtedly the w^oman for wiiom he 


36 


TUE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


had deserted her. The air was stifling. She felt as if everything was 
growing black before her eyes. 

The proprietor, seeing she looked faint, handed her a chair, and insisted 
that she should take a glass of wine. But she declined. There was sonie- 
thing about the man that made her anxious to leave, for she felt there was 
an insult in every glance he gave her. 

“Then you have no idea wdiere I can find him?” she asked, as she was 
going out the door. 

“No. He hasn’t been here for several days. 'Well, if you don't find 
liim— ” and he winked. She slammed the door in his face and stumbled 
into the street. 

Everyone was free to insult her now, she thought, with a choking sol). 
What friends had a deserted wife ? 

Slie made a tour of the saloons George was accustomed to frequent. 
Some had seen him yesterday — the day before; no, they could not tell her 
where he had gone. He had spoken of taking a trip to Australia. 

Liar ! it was only this morning that he had pictured the villa in France, 
where they were to be so happy together. He was perhaps on his way 
there now with her— her ! The creature for whom he had deserted and 
defrauded his wife. 

As time passed and she found no traces of him, her anger somewhat 
abated. She realized the helplessness of her position. She had eaten 
nothing since morning, and she had walked miles. She was alone and 
friendless; a miserable woman in a great city, with no one to turn to for 
advice and comfort. She was racked with pains, while her brain was full 
of fire that seemed to consume lier. 

She walked along slowly now, feeling her way like one in a dream. 
Tliere was no place where she could turn, no other haunt she could search 
for some clue to the missing. 

Night had closed in on the city, and the sky was like a garden filled with 
flowers of fire. 

As she crossed Madison Square, she saw a man and a woman seated on a 
bench under one of the trees. Their faces were close together, and his 
arm had stolen about her waist. The rumble of the carriages over the 
asphalt, the chatter of the passers-by, did not disturb the lovers. They 
were in a world apart. They did not hear the jarring noises of the 
city. 

Nellie turned away sick at heart. Love was not for her. He had passed 
her by, leaving only the poison of Ids barb to rankle in her bosom. 

Her dreams of happiness had faded into mist and night, leaving her to 
face a dreadful, lonely future. She had sacrificed her youth on the altar 
of a selfish god, who mocked her grief, and sent her forth an outcast to 
face the world alone. 

Love, that has pow'cr to raise mankind to a level with the angels, had 
dragged her down. She had staked lier all, and she had lost. 

Now that her rage had died away, so fled her courage. What could a 
lonely woman do in a great city, without friends ? What was the use of 
struggling, only to be carried away by the current out into the sea of sin, 
or overwhelmed by the waves ? What was the use ? she asked herself. 

The rain was falling softly, and in the air was the sickening smell of city 
mist, that seemed to have caught some of the odor of the foul tenements 
over which it passed. Through the opaque veil, the myriad lights of the 
Broadway stores twinkled like fire-flies imprisoned in silver gauze. 

Nellie iooked wistfully at some of the happy, piquant faces thrust out of- 


THE SlIADO W OF THE BARS. 37 

hoods, as the crowds hurried on towards the theatres, with rustling skirts 
and tinkling heels, over the greasy pavements. 

Why was she not happy like these women, with their husbands, and 
brothers, and lovers ? 

She had come to New York, only a few months before, with George, think- 
ing that all life was spread before her like a pleasure-garden; so happy 
that she counted even her sin as nothing in the joys of the moment. She 
liad lost a great deal, but she had gained a love that time would only 
strengthen. 

Then came despair — stifled heart-cries, and the dream had faded away in 
a mist of bitter tears. 

She could recall, how in the first days of the honeymoon, when he used to 
take her to the theatre, and when the pressure of his hand on her arm sent 
a delicious thrill to her heart; and how she had pitied the solitary women 
who passed by, and wondered to herself if they would ever have lovers, 
or liusbands, and feel how very near to the earth the fields of Eden lay. 

The city seemed more than usually gay to-night, as she threaded her way 
along slowly. It seemed as if everyone was laughing at her grief — mock- 
ing at her downfall. 

Like the phantoms of a dream, the people came and went; while she 
watched them with sullen eyes, envious of their laughter, and hating their 
happy, careless faces, .their rich clothes, their sparkling jewels. 

Then some solitary woman, like herself, would idle along, painted and 
powdered, with hard metallic eyes, that seemed to search the eddying 
stream, even as a hawk poises above the limpid waters before seizing its 
prey. 

Nellie shuddered, and stumbled on, lest she might be accosted by one of 
these wolves who hang about the outskirts of the tight for fortune and feed 
upon the moral corpses of the combatants. 

In front of Daly’s Theatre two young men in dress suits were lounging. 
One was telling the other of a man who had committed suicide by jumping 
from a Staten Island ferryboat that eveniug, and how funny it was to see 
him swimming around at first, with a silk hat on his head, smoking a cigar, 
before he sank. 

“ He will smoke,” said the other significantly, and then they burst into 
another laugh, and the younger of the two thought the joke so good that 
he insisted on opening a pint of champagne next door. 

Nellie walked on, feeling very faint and weary. Stopping for a moment 
to look at herself in a mirror that hung in front of a picture-store, she 
could hardly recognize the dead-white face that confronted her, and the 
eyes ringed heavily with black. It was like looking upon her own disem^ 
bodied spirit. 

The crowd flowing into Wallack’s detained her. Some great society star 
was about to make her debut, and the flower of the city had gathered to do 
her honor. Fabulous sums had been paid for a corner in which to stand 
and view the new-fledged actress. 

Laughing-eyed women, with bare arms and white bosoms, let their rich 
cloaks fallnito the hands of their attendants, as they tripped into the open 
doors of the theatre. Little satin- clad feet twinkled over the red velvet 
carpet leading to the lobby. 

“ They are so happy ! so happy !”,she murmured wretchedly, turning into 
a side street, gloomy and desolate. 

Througli the silence she still heard the murmur of voices, and before her 
eyes flashed the myriad lights. 


88 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


She was young to die; she knew it. Yet as she calmly reviewed her 
circumstances, she could not see a single rift of light in the gloom. She 
was in a mood to follow any elusive phantom that promised peace; but her 
horizon was bounded with iron walls, and she could not look beyond. 

She had loved and she had lost, and she was powerless to prosecute her 
hate, impotent to avenge the death of her hopes and happiness. Yet she 
thought with a shudder of a visit she had made one day with George to the 
morgue, and where they had seen a horrid thing on a slab, th^t had been 
raked out of the slime of the river. She remembered the clothes — dainty ones 
they were — that hung on the wall; and the drip, drip, of the water, tiowiiig 
from the slab, and running in rivulets over the floor. She heard that too. 

The river side seemed quiet, after the bustle and hurry of Broadway. 
The sound of fog-horns and steam-whistles sounded weirdly in the thick 
mist, where some tug-boats passed and repassed like unwieldy 2:)hantoms 
with red and green and yellow eyes. 

She wondered, as she stood on the end of the dock and peered down into 
the water, if any of the passing boats would strike her before the greasy 
tide had carried her away into the sea of oblivion. Would he recognize 
her after death, and shed a tear of regret for what was past ? Would he 
see her at all ? Who would pick her up, and would the lepers give her a 
line ? 

As she stood there, the sound of a sweet voice singing struck softly on 
her ear, so near that she started, fearing some one had followed her, some 
one who might stand in the way of her freedom. 

She saw, in a moment, that the voice came from the open i^ort-hole of a 
vessel moored near by, where a light was burning brightly. She crawled 
to the verge of the pier, where she could look into the cabin. 

The swinging-lamp showed a little woman in black, rocking her baby to 
sleep, while she sang a lullaby in a low, sweet voice. The flickering light 
fell on her pure, white face and tender eyes that rested on the little one. 
Nellie turned away with a strange ])ain at her heart, such as she had never 
felt before, and jwessed her hands convulsively to her bosom. 

A moment, and the picture faded away. She was alone in the gloom 
again, by the rushing waters and the shadowy ships. 

She leaned against one of the tall posts and sobbed bitterly, thinking 
of that mother and her child. Would she ever feel soft baby arms about 
her throat, and baby li2)s pressed close to hers ? 

She looked at the black waters again with a shudder, as they slipped by 
the slimy posts towards the sea, and in the whirling eddies she fancied she 
saw a dead, white face— her own — and writhing, helpless arms beating the 
waves. 

“ No ! no ! I cannot die to-night. Only this morning he kissed me. I— 
I must first be sure that he no longer loves me;” and turning away from 
the gloomy waters, she walked hastily away in the direction of her lodgings. 


CHAPTER VII. 

ALONG THE SUMMER SEA. 

“I V7ISH you young people would go away, and stay away for a few 
hours,” said Mrs. Ralston. It was a few days before the much -talked-' 
about garden-party, and she was making a list of things that would be 
needed on that occasion. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 39 

“You have mixed me up so that I don’t know what 1 am about. There ! 

I was just going to order ten dozen spoons instead of two.” 

“Seems to me we have two now,” said Telia, with a laugh, looking in 
the direction of her cousin, and then at Alice, signiticantly. “ If you will 
only suggest something that we have not tried in the way of amusement, 
we shall be very thankful for the suggestion.” 

“ Go in bathing.” 

“Been in once to-day. Y^ould you have us look like boiled lob- 
sters ?” 

“ Boating.” 

“ Too hot. Tried it yesterdajy’ 

“ AVell, can’t you get up a flirtation with somebody ?” said the widow, 
with a pretty air of vexation, as she tapped her foot impatiently on the 
carpet. “ If I understood mesmerism, Td put you all in a comatose state 
for a month. ” 

“ You’ll have to change the name of this villa to the other place,” said 
Telia with a laugh, “ if this weather don’t ctol off.” 

“ AYell,” adjusting a curl over a familiar wrinkle, “I declare, I don’t 
believe anyone was ever worried with such an unmanageable set. You 
men, at least, can go off fishing,” with an api^ealing glance at Varley. 

“ Don’t !” cries the irrepressible Miss Ferris. “ That would be too mean, 
to leave us poor women all alone.” 

“I have it !” exclaims Varley. “We will order up the horses, ride to 
Spring Take, dine at the Monmouth House, and then home in the evening 
by moonlight.” 

“ Delightful!” from Miss Ferris. 

“ But you ought to have a cha])erone,” puts in Mrs. Ralston, biting the 
end of her pen thoughtfully. “ This expedition is not quite ait rhgle. I am 
afraid.” 

“ Now, there you go interposing objections, when we offer to leave you 
strictly alone for the rest of tlie day. Why, Til clia])erone the quartette I” 
cries I^elia. “ Yes, and see that there is no eio{)ement,” laughing in Yar- 
ley’s face. “ I’ll run up and put on my riding-habit before any one has a 
chance to say no;” running off in a flutter of skirts. 

“ Aren’t you going, Aliss Tyrell?” asks Harding, turning to Alice, who is 
bt'iiding over some fancy-work in the corner. 

“ I think I had bettef stay here and keep Mrs. Ralston company,” avoid- 
ing his bold glance. “ You know 1 am a very poor rider, and you would 
have to stop every few minutes to give me a chance to catch up.” 

“ Oh, we shall take our time. It is too warm for any racing.” 

“ Yes, we can’t leave you out,” puts in Varley. “ Come, aunt, persuade 
AHss Tyrell to go. It would turn Delia’s silly little head to have two 
cavaliers.” 

That young lady, who has just entered the room in time to catch the last 
words, bites her lip viciously. She hoped he would say something nice 
about the Chinese-blue riding-habit she is wearing for the first time, but 
he does not look at her. ^ 

“ You had better go, Alice,” urges Mrs. Ralston. “Do it to oblige me, 
if for no other reason. This precious trio will be hanging about my skirts 
all the afternoon, if you don’t consent, and I want to get a chance to over- 
haul the plate and silver. Telia, no doubt, will lend you a habit.” 

“ Certainly 1” replies her niece. “ Aly green one always was a tight fit, 
so it will be just the tiling. I never wore it but twice, it made me look 
like such a fright,” she says to Harding, in an undertone. 


40 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


Alice, having no further excuse to offer, submits as gracefully as she can, 
and runs upstairs to change her dress. 

Somehow her hands are trembling as she puts it on, and the buttons slip 
between her fingers. 

Without, the sky is blue in turquoise, and the air strong with the salt 
scent of the sea. Why was it that she saw in the clear mirror of the 
present a shadowy’ presentiment of some impending danger — that was eom- 
ing — that was near at hand ? 

She buttoned the last of the many buttons nervously; and ran downstairs 
as if to escape from the harassing thoughts that would intrude them- 
selves. 

The horses were waiting in front of the house, looking as glossy as if they 
had been oiled, and gay" in their trappings of russet leather and silver 
trimmings. 

“ Not the least remarkable thing about you is that you can dress in five 
minutes, ” said Varley, as he swung her inj^o the saddle with an admiring 
glance at the supple form so admirably set off by the riding-habit. “ It is 
a quality that few of your sex enjoy.” 

“Keep Varley at a distance from me, ’’whispers Harding, as he holds out 
his hand for Lelia to mount. “ Never fear,” she returns. “ They shan’t 
have a chance to say a word to each other if I can help it.” 

“Now behave yourselves, children,” calls out Mrs. Ealston from the 
porch. “ I’m not quite sure whether I am right in letting you go.” 

“Well, compound with your conscience while we are away, aunt,” says 
Lelia with a laugh, and the cavalcade go cantering down the gravelled 
road into the highway. Miss Ferris and Varley, who are the best mounted, 
in advance ; while Alice, on a fat and lazy little cob, followed by Harding, 
pursues a more leisurely pace. 

The turnpike road gleams white as snow in the light of a summer’s sun. 
The horses’ hoofs sink deep in the glittering road, or toss up the sand like 
sea spray. 

From the beach the sound of the breakers is mingled with the shrieking 
laughter of a party of bathers, whose red and blue suits brighten the dun- 
colored landscape. 

Alice’s pale cheek flushed a delicate rose with the excitement of the ride, 
and she almost forgot that she had a companion who was at times over-at- 
tentive. Harding mistook the signs to indicate that she was pleased to be 
in his company. Perhaps she had only been flirting with Varley. He 
belonged to that class of men who think that all women who are not will- 
ing to sell themselves to the highest bidders are coquettes. He took fresh 
hope from her friendly manner, and, in order to give the couple ahead a good 
start, stopped Alice’s horse several times under the pretence that the sad- 
dle-girth needed fixing. She was too much occupied in studying the sea 
and cottages by which they passed to note the intention that lay behind 
these simple manoevres, but rode on slowly, drinking in the charm of that 
glorious day. 

“ Where have Harding and Miss Tyrell disappeared to ?” said Varley, half 
to himself, turning in his stirrup and looking back. A grove of shrub 
pines hid for the moment Alice and her companion. 

“ You seem quite vexed that Miss Tyrell is not at your elbow,” laughed 
Lelia, maliciously. “ 1 dare say they are enjoying themselves or they would 
not linger so along the road. For a country girl Miss Tyrell is certainly 
well posted in the arts of a city flirt with all modern improvements.” 

He did not seem to relish the remark at all, and struck viciously at a blue. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


41 


bottle on his horse’s head with the tip of his riding- whip, as they cantered 
slowly along. 

“ So you think she is a flirt ?” trying not to appear curious. 

“ I’m afraid I am not interesting you,” laughing softly to herself. 

“ Oh ! do see that little red cottage over there in the sand ; it looks like 
a doll’s house.” 

“ But why do you think so?” he persisted, ignoring her last remark. 

“Well, if you don’t see, I’m sure I cannot furnish you with glasses. 
Here is a young woman who makes the acquaintance of a man on the 
train — ” 

“ That’s nothing ; she explained it all to me. They (only exchanged a 
word over a paper he handed her to read.” 

“ Well, that’s her version. You were not there to see,” tossing her head. 
“ She makes the acquaintance of Mr. Harding on the train, flirts with him 
until she finds out that he is not wealthy enough to be worth catching, and 
then, hearing from Mrs. Kalston that you are to be her heir, immediately 
baits her trap for you.” 

“ Lelia Ferris !” he exclaims passionately. “ I forbid you to talk about 
Miss Tyrell in that way. Do you hear ? I forbid you !” and he lays his 
hand authoritatively on her arm. 

Lelia wilts before the expression that blazes in his eyes. Her bravado is 
all gone now ; she has not a word to say, and is strongly tempted to burst 
into a flood of tears. 

“What has changed you so ?” he adds in a milder voice. “ We used to 
get along very well together, but lately you have developed into a regular 
little scandal-monger.” 

“ And you have changed too” she whimpers. “ Last summer you used to 
take me everywhere. But now — ” a sob choking her— “ since she came I 
see little or nothing of you. I thought you loved me a little bit.” 

“ And so I do, Lelia, so I do,” grieved to see his cousin in tears, and lay- 
ing his hand gently on her shoulder. “ We have spent many happy hours 
together, you and I, and I hope will spend many more. There, there now, 
don’t cry,” and he does his best to comfort her. 

‘ ‘ In studying the beach you are losing the little comedy that is transpir- 
ing just ahead of us, ” says Harding with a laugh, pointing with his whip 
in the direction of Lelia and Varley, who have again into come sight. 

“ Ah ! these modern lovers never consider the time nor the place when a 
pretty girl is in the question.” 

Alice looks up and sees Varley with his arm evidently around Leila’s 
waist, and a cold wave seems to surge through her blood to her very finger- 
tips. 

“ Yes, they are very fond of each other,” she says calmly. “ Miss Ferris 
has never had a brother, and she and Mr. Varley were playmates ever since 
they were little children, Mrs. Raison tells me.” 

“ Yes, this brotherly love is a charming thing,” he says with a half sneer. 
“ The only trouble is in drawing the line where fraternal affection ends 
and the lover begins. I thought Miss Ferris and Varley were engaged.” 

“ I never heard so,” faintly, turning away and patting her horse’s head 
with nervous Angers. 

“Mrs. Ralston hinted as much to me when I first came,” he said, taking 
a malicious pleasure in seeing his companion was being tortured, “ I be- 
lieve it is her dearest wish that they should be man and wife. She thinks 
Miss Ferris needs a strong hand to "keep her in check.” 

Is this true what he is raying? Alice asks herself as they ride along in si- 


42 


TUE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


lence. Has slie, the dependent, stepped in between two lovers, and to 
defeat the dearest plan of her benefactress ? 

Perhaps Lelia and Varley really did love each other before she came 
upon the scene. Again the shadow falls across the sunlight, and a voice 
seems whispering mockingly in her ear, ‘ * Fool ! did you think he loved 
you? Happiness is not for you.” Turning, she sees that Harding is study- 
ing her face with an expression half of inquiry, half admiration. In a mo- 
ment she has collected herself and the reins tighten in her hands. It 
will not do to show him all she feels. 

“ Come, Mr. Harding,” with a forced air of gayety, “ while we have 
been idlying here, Mr. Varley has had time to elope with Miss Ferris ; and 
she startles the sleepy cob with a crack of her riding- whip that sends him 
clattering over the road at an unaccustomed pace. 

Harding gallops after, a little nonplussed at her sudden change of man- 
ner, yet feeling at the same time that the poisonous seed she has sown 
have taken root in her heart and are bearing fruit. 

“ Shall we wait under this tree for the others to come up ?” asks Varley 
of his companion, as they ride through a groove of pine woods. He is not 
at all satished to leave the others so long to themselves. 

“Why disturb them ?” says Lelia, with a light laugh. “Has it never 
occurred to you that perhaps they would like to be alone? If not, they 
would have caught up with us, for we have not been running a dead 
heat.” 

He frowns and flicks the horse with his whip. Of course it would be 
silly to wait. They gallop on over the white sand, while the nostrils of the 
horses dilate, and whinny with delight as they approach the sea. Hard- 
ing and his companion pause for a moment in the shade to cool off after 
their brisk canter. She is fanning her heated face with her broad straw 
hat, the pink flush makes her all the more lovely, and her eyes are still 
flashing with the excitement of the ride. 

She is in a reckless mood. Her spirit is in revolt against her destiny. 
Why should she care to be honest and just and good, when the iron heels 
of a relentless fate grind her to the dust ? Why should she struggle against 
the promptings of evil, when love and happiness always flee her approach ? 
Why should she not live for the present ? What if the bubbles burst ; 
can she not float others to take their place ? 

Harding, who is studying her face, feels as if the supreme moment has 
come. He leans towards her; his hot breath fans her cheek. He speaks 
rapidly. 

“Alice! Alice!” he murmurs, “don’t turn away from me. I have 
longed for this moment to speak to you alone. You know what I am going 
to say. You must have seen — you must have read my secret before this : 
that I love you. Yes, darling, ever since that day I first saw you when we 
came down together to the sea.” 

She turns on him her wild and startled eyes. 

“You — love — me ?” 

“ Yes, love you ! love you ! love you ! The sight of you thrills me with 
a feeling I have never known before. Your eyes burn me, madden me. I 
can keep my secret no longer; I must tell you before it consumes me.” He 
leans towards her as if he would press her to his heart. His hot breath 
scorches her face. 

“Let me go!” she cries, and breaking away from him, strikes her horse 
in the face and gallops madly down the road. 

Harding looks after her dumbly, and follows at a more leisurely pace. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


43 


“ I'll win you yet/’ lie says to himself, gritting his teeth firmly together. 
“ She is not quite ready to resign young \\arley. 1 never gave up anything 
yet that T started out to get, and by God ! I will have her if 1 have to plot 
and plan for the rest of my lifetime. I must— 1 will have her !” putting 
spurs to his horse. 

Where is Alice going? She neither knows nor cares. Her only 
anxiety is to get away from those burning eyes that seem to devour her 
like a wild beast's. Bitterly she blames herself for having made one of the 
p;irty. This otfer of love coming from him seems like an insult; how could 
ho dare to fancy that she eared for him ? 

Tlicy arc approaching the sea, and the fat little cob, scenting the salt air, 
warms up to his work and goes clattering on. The sound of hoofs ai)- 
proaching warns her that Harding is close at her heels, and she strikes her 
horse sharply with her whip to urge him on. She feels that she cannot 
face him again to-day after what has passed, and her only anxiety now is 
to reach Varley and Miss Ferris. 

Just as she is emerging from the shadows of the pine woods the cob 
shies. Alice would have been thrown if Harding had not rode up past 
them, and, leaping from his saddle, seized the bridle just in time to prevent 
a serious accident. 

She has seen her danger, but the words choke her when she tries to 
thaijjv him. Fortune -is again unkind. She must be under obligations to 
the man she wants to hate. 

A tattered tramp snoring under one of the pine-trees is the cause of all 
the trouble. Harding wakes him up with a kick. The man swears and 
sits up and looks around sleepily. 

“ Here, you! do you know you’ve frightened this lady’s horse so that she 
came near getting killed ? Down on your knees, you whelp, and ask her 
pardon!” flicking his whip within an inch of the man’s face. 

“Don’t be hard on a cove, mister,” he whines sleepily. “I didn't go 
for to do nothin’. I’m sure,” taking off his greasy hat with a mock air of 
politeness; “ the lady will forgive a poor bloke as is out of a job and ain’t 
eat nothin’ for three days.” As his eyes fall on her face he gives vent to a 
long whistle, while Alice’s eyes dilate with terror. It is the man who tried 
to kiss her that day in the prison dining-room ; she cannot be mistaken. 
That besotted face, those watery eyes, she has seen too often in the terror 
of her dreams. What is he doing here ? She shudders. Harding has not 
lost a bit of the scene. These two, he knows,- have met before. He lingers 
a moment as she rides away slowly, stupefied. 

“ Where can you be found, my man?” he says in a low voice, as Alice 
turns away sick at heart. “ I may get some work for you to do.” 

“ I was told I might get a job doin’ ’ostler work at the Point Pleasant 
Hotel,” grins the man. 

“ This will buy you some bread and cheese, my good fellow,” in a voic(' 
loud enough for Alice to hear, as he lays a five dollar bill in the man’s 
dirty palm. “You will hear from me,” he adds, in a lower voice, and 
turning, he goes galloping off after the cob and its rider. 

For a moment the tramp stood ih the middle of the road looking at the 
five-dollar bill, and then at the two on horseback who were disappearing 
in a cloud of dust, then burst into a laugh. 

“ Well, who’d a thought o’ seeiiT Forty-four in these parts,” he murmured 
to himself, “and with a bloomin’ swell at that ! Lucky for me I took a 
snooze under that tree, for if I don’t bank some stags out o’ this cove or 
the dame, I don’t answer to the name of Jim Hoskins ; that’s all” 


44 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


And mnneliing on a piece of stale bread and cheese, lie trudged on 
through tlie sand in the direction of the nearest road-house. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MRS. RALSTON’S PARTY. 

Alice looked at herself in the long mirror at the foot of the stairs, and 
was surprised to find that she was as white as the sim[)le dress of satin and 
tiillc she wore. 

The music of a rapid waltz rustled the leaves of the lemon-trees that 
lined the hall, and the buzzing sound of many voices from the drawing- 
rooms came to her ears like the drone of innumerable bees. She was in no 
mood to join in the gayety of Mrs. Ralston's party, and yet she saw no 
way of escaping without making a number of awkward explanations and 
excuses. 

The best thing under the circumstances was to show herself among the 
guests, and then slip away as soon as possible to her own room and not 
appear again. After all, she had no right to link the past with the present 
either in pleasures or sorrows. She had thrown the old life aside like an 
ill-fitting garment, and the Alice Tyrell of to-day must claim no kinship 
with the Alice Valtou of yesterday. 

She pinched her pale cheeks to give them a little color, and walked down 
into the ball-room, where an elegant crowd were jostling through a waltz 
with heated faces. She sighed as she saw that Lelia and Varley were 
waltzing together, and noted not without a pang that his cheek was very 
close to hers. 

Lelia’s face was radiant as she swayed in her partner’s arms with a 
sensuous, willowy motion. The primrose satin bodice was rather indiscreet 
in its revelations, but no one could dispute the marvellous whiteness of her 
arms and bosom, that gleamed like satin in the soft light of the lamps and 
candles. 

Her curling ''yellow hair shimmered with change ‘‘id lights as the move- 
ments of the waltz brought out its golden tints. Mrs. Ralston bustled all 
over the place in a flutter of excitement, anxious to sec that everytliing was 
going well. 

The importation of young men from the city had duly arrived, and also 
a rciK)rter from the Totvn Tattler, who just now was writing a description 
of the dresses, seated in the reception-room, with a bottle of champagne at 
his elbow for inspiration. Though x\lice wore the simplest dress in the 
room, and tried to avoid the crowd, it was not long before Mrs. Ralston 
h:ul surrounded her with young men who had asked for an introduction. 
The sight of Lelia looking so happy in Varley's arms sent a dull pain to 
her heart, and she replied to the remarks addressed to her in dreamy mono- 
syllables. Some of the young men evidently considered her very stupid, 
for they gradually drifted away from lier and gathered around a black- 
eyed girl in scarlet who was relating her experiences in smoking cigars, and 
could wriggle her shoulders deliciously. Harding was dancing in the thick 
of the crowd, a,nd had not seen her as yet. Since that interview in the 
woods she had avoided him, but fate seemed to be always throwing them 
together. He was so scrupulously polite that she coukl hardly find an 
opportunity to tell him how much she disliked his attentions. 

“Did you ever sec such eyes and bosom?” said a club man, looking at 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


45 


Lelia with one of those glances “which seem to undress a woman,” as 
Gautier puts it. 

“I hear they are to be married in the fah,” added his friend. “A 
devilish tine-looking couple, and both will have loads of money, B’ Jove, 
I feel real cannibalistic when that round white arm of hers is near me in a 
waltz.” 

Tlie other said something in a low voice, and they both laughed softly to 
themselves. 

Alice’s cheek flushed painfully. She wanted to slip away to her room 
and have a good cry; but there was no chance to escape Mrs. Ralston’s 
vigilant eye, and, after all, it would appear strange if she was missed so 
early in the evening. 

Varley and Lelia disappeared in the direction of the conservatory after 
the waltz, and Alice, feeling no interest any longer in the shifting crowd, 
tried to talk to the high-collared young man with a lisp who had been 
vainly trying to get her attention for some moments. He wanted to say 
that she reminded him so much of a Russian countess he had met at Monte 
Cai*lo, who could take a flve-barred gate like a bird, don’t you know, and 
pink an ace at twenty paces three out of five, and he came near flghting a 
duel for her sake, only his mother wouldn’t let him. 

Alice’s face lighted up with such a smile just then that he thought he 
must have made an impression, and would liave followed it up if Varley 
had not arrived just then and borne her away to the garden, where a number 
of young men and women were eating ices. 

Mrs. Ralston had provided for the flirtation-minded in a liberal fashion, 
and it was certainly not her fault if any divorces or marriages were the 
result of the fete. 

A number of little Japanese kiosks dotted the lawn and terraces, and 
in the centre of the lake a jewelled electric fountain sent up its glittering 
spray, which gave the frightened swans a strangely mottled and unearthly 
appearance as they swam about, unable to understand the phenomena. 

Vai-ley and Alice, seated in one of the kiosks near the water’s edge, 
chattered over their ices after the waiter disappeared, and enjoyed them- 
selves like children at a picnic. The soft, fresh air of the night and the 
la])])ing of the waves at their feet soothed and calmed her spirits, and she 
hardly dared to think of her happiness lest it should vanish. 

“ I liave not seen Miss Tyrell to-night,” said Harding, who was waltzing 
with Lelia in the i)ink drawing-room. “ Can she be ill ?” 

“ Yes, if love is indeed a malady,” said Miss Ferris, with a laugh. “ I 
thought a lover’s eyes could see through a stone wall. She has been under 
your nose for the past half-hour.” 

“ Why did you not tell me?” 

“ I have something else to do.” 

“Your own stock seems to be rising,” with a sneer. “Varley has been 
quite attentive this evening.” 

“Yes,” smiling. “I believe he only was playing with the child — at 
least, he would never think of marrying her. That would be too ab- 
surd.” 

‘ ‘ ISlore absurd things have happened, ” said Harding, significantly. ‘ ‘ By 
the way, what has become of him?” looking around. “ He was here a 
moment ago; and is there any significance in the fact that Miss Tyrell has 
disappeared too ?” with a malicious laugh. 

“Let us stop; I am tired,” said Lelia, faintly. “I dare say— I dare 
say he has only steiiped out into the hall for a glass of punch.” 


46 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


He escorted her to a seat, and went off to dance with Mrs. Ralston, n lio 
was giving the reporter the history of one of the diamonds she wore on 
her ample bosom, 

Lelia did not stay a moment in the corner, but disappeared into the con- 
servatory. There was a couple in the rock grotto eating an ice from the 
same dish with a running accompaniment of pet names, but they were not 
the people she wanted. 

The lower floors of the house were searched with no better success, and 
she returned to the drawing-room disconsolate. Varley had acted so 
lover-like to her that night that she had taken fresh hope. He was prob- 
ably in good humor because of his contemplated rendezvous with Alice. 
She thought she could hear them even then in the garden laughing at her 
discomfiture. 

“ Well, what luck?” asked Harding, coming forward to meet her, know- 
ing well enough by her face that her search had been unsuccessful. “ You 
are not pretty when you frown so.” 

“ What is the use of being pretty,” she almost sobbed, ‘‘ when he treats 
me so ? It was all smooth sailing until she came between us. ” 

“ Hush ! Speak lower; some one will hear you.” 

“I don’t care who hears me,” with the gesture of a spoilt child. 
“ What riglit had he to trifle with me last summer if he felt nothing? I 
can't give him up, and I won’t,” 

People were looking at them curiously as they went out on the porch. 

“ Why don’t you try and help me ?” she asked pathetically. 

The common ties of sympathy had drawn this ill-assorted couple together, 
and now she seldom thought of taking any steps without consulting 
him. 

“ What can I dp ? What have I not tried ? Once we have separated 
them and created a distrust, half of the battle is over.” 

“ If she were out of my way,” thoughtfully, “ I am sure he would come 
back to me. Do what you can to keep them apart.” 

“ Never fear. I am as much interested in the finale of thia little com- 
edy as you. But I must go back to the ball-room. I am to dance this 
lancers with Mrs. Burro vvdale,” looking at his card, 

“And I with Mr. Pilkington. But let the old monkey wait,” crushing 
her fan in her slim, nervous fingers. “I have more important work on 
hand than to caper witli that idiot,” and she stepped down on the terrace, 
while Harding disappeared indoors to claim his partner. 

The night air was warm and tender, and the soft sound of flowing 
waters came like drowsy music to her ears. Through the broad leaves of 
the maple-trees glimmered the lanterns on the kiosks, swinging in the dark- 
ness like bupches of grapes and fantastic flowers. The sky was full of 
stars and dreams, and across the illimitable lagoons of the heavens like a 
silver shallop swam tlie summer moon. 

Leila’s satin slippers scarcely made a sound as she stepped on the grav- 
elled walk. An occasional laugh was heard from the direction of the 
kiosks, but in which one should she find the couple she sought ? She had 
made up her mind to break up the Ute-a-tete with some excuse, for it 
would not do to leave them too long alone with each other. 

A sound like a kiss in one of the summer-houses startled her. Pshaw ! 
it was only a waiter drawing a champagne cork. She passed on, but some- 
how it stirred up unpleasant thoughts in the girl’s mind. Perhaps while 
she had wasted her time waltzing with Harding, Alice was in Varley’s 
arms and her lips against his. 


THE SHADO W OF THE BARS. 


47 


Lelia shivered and shut her teeth hard as she walked carefully over the 
grass. 

The rattle of spoons and now and then a shout of laughter reached her 
ears as she paused. Every one seemed to be having a good time —every 
one but she. 

Their mirth struck her ear harshly. What right had they to be gay 
when she was so miserable ? 

As she neared the water's edge the sound of familiar voices warned her 
that she had found those she sought. 

A moment she hesitated and then stepped into the shrubbery, where she 
could see the interior of the little pavilion and the two faces outlined in 
the light of the fairy lamp on the table. 

Lelia had arrived at an opportune time to learn the truth that she 
dreaded most to hear. A moment before Varley had been telling Alice 
how much he loved her, and she was leaning back in the rustic seat think- 
ing of his fervid words, wrapped in a delicious state of semi-oblivion. 

He was so close to her that his warm breath fanned her cheek, and in 
his eyes there was a soft light she had never seen before. Slie was deliri- 
ously happy. 

Love and peace were in her grasp, and yet she dared not reach out her 
hand and take them. AVhat right had she to seek an honest love while 
that shadow marred the fairness of her life ? She wanted to put her arms 
around his neck, and with her head on his })rcast and her eyes looking into 
his, tell him everything, but she did not dare. 

Perhaps it was better that they should part now before ho learned to 
hate her. At least she would have the memory of his love to sweeten her 
solitude in the lonely years that were to come. 

His tender words of sympathy and trust fell like grateful rain on the 
desert of her heart, where all was parched and hot, and she dreaded to 
break the spell that was to shut her out of happiness forever. 

If she could have seen the terrilde glance that Lelia cast toward her, it 
might have recalled her from her foolish dream, and reminded her of her 
obligation in the present, and the duties she owed ISlrs. Ralston. 

Now she had not the moral courage to tear herself away f]*om the charm 
of the soft eyes that were bent towards her, and the warm ])ressure of the 
hand that sent the blood dancing through her veins to a delirious measure. 

Several times Alice was about to withdraw, but invisible hands seemed 
straining her back. She had hungered for love all her life, and yet 
slie had no right now to taste its sweetness. She must turn away from 
the feast, and, worn with hunger, pass on, unloved, alone. She dared not 
tell him, knowing his pride, and he had shown her in a conversation before 
that he could never forgive deceit. It must be trust for trust, or nothing. 

She looked almost sadly at Varley, as if begging to let her go, with 
her soul in her e3"es. He leaned towards her, and his warm breatli SAve})t 
her cheek. In a moment his lips pressed hers in a passionate kiss. 

Lelia gave a cry as if she had been stabbed. The lovers drew farther 
apart, but in Varley’s eyes a triumphant light shone, as if he cared little 
whether their love-making had been witnessed or not. 

Heated dancers now thronged the terraces, fanning themselves and mop- 
ping their faces with handkerchiefs. A waiter came to clear off the table, 
and Varley ordered some more ices in order to give an excuse to stay 
longer. 

Alice hinted that they would be missed frotn the ball-room, but he only 
laughed and assured her that everything was proper at the seashore. 


48 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


Lelia, sliivering in tho shrubbery, narrowly escaped being seen by the 
people walking to and fro; but as soon as a new dance began they scattered 
in search of partners, and she was again free to s[)y on her neighbors. 

“ I must go now, Mr. Vaiiey,” said Alice, faintly, as she rose. “It was 
wrong in me to stay here so long. What can Mrs. Kalston think of 
me ?” 

“Think as I do, that you are the dearest woman under heaven,” ho 
cried with fervor, covering her hands with kisses. “ What do we care for 
what people say ? ” 

“ And have you forgotten so soon your engagement with Miss Ferris 
she said, withdrawing her hand slowly. 

He laughed. 

“ I never was engaged to her, dearest. It was the wish of her mother 
and Aunt Mary that we should marry, and they took care to circulate the 
report pretty thoroughly of an engagement. We were child-lovers and 
playmates, but that was all.” 

Lelia clinched her hands until the nails wounded the delicate flesh, and it 
seemed to her that they must hear how loud her heart was beating. She 
had made up her mind she would hear the scene out, no matter what it 
cost her, though every word fell like a dro]) of molten lead on hoi’ brain. 
She would bear all, all. 

“ That pleasant fiction having disappeared,” he said gayly, “ I ask you 
again, Alice, to be my wife.” 

She turned her eyes away, and stood with drooping head, W’hile her 
hands were clasped almost in supplication. 

“I can never be your wife,” she said slowly, plucking a rose to pieces 
in her trembling fingers. 

“ Alice !” There was pain and w’onder in his voice. She shivercxl and 
crossed her hands over her breast as if the night air chilled her. 

“ Let me see your face,” he said, drawing her nearer the rosy radiance 
of the fairy lamp that glimmered on the little rustle table. She offered no 
resistance, and her face wvas firm as she turned it towards him. 

“ Are you in earnest, or is this a cruel joke ?” he asked, as he raised her 
face towards his. But he read determination in the treml)ling lips that gave 
him little hope. She w^as glad wiien he withdrew his hand. Another mo- 
ment and she could not have retained her composure. 

“ You can never be my wife?” he asked, seeking vainly wMth his eyes 
for some explanation in the pale, drawui face that quivered under 'his 
.glance. “ Is there some one else you love better?” 

She shook her head. 

For some moments neither said a w^ord. When she raised her face again 
towards him, it wore an expression of calm resignation, but it w’as pale ;is 
death. 

“ You have honored me by telling me that you loved me,” and the words 
trembled on her lips. “ God knows how much such w’ords mean to a 
lonely woman. But it can never be. Xove is not for me, nor happiness. 
Between us two stretches a dreary wvaste of despair. I must suffer in 
silence until the end.” 

“ And you will not tell me wiiat this shadow is that darkens vour life ?” 

“ I cannot, I dare not,” with a shudder. “ If you knew everything, you 
might despise me. ” 

He looked at her a moment in wonder and shook his head. 

“ How little you know^ the meaning of love ! It is only another name for 
perfect trust and faith. Doubt is trampled in the dust of its triumphant 


THE SUADOW OF TUE BARS. 49 

course. Tell me what this is that troubles you; the burden will not be so 
great to bear if I can help you share it.” 

An eager light shines in his handsome face, and his hands reach out 
towards her. What an impulse seizes her to seek rest and peace on his 
breast. But she turns away sick at heart. 

“ It cannot be. I must walk in the shadow alone, as I have in the past. 
When the time comes and I shall pass out of your life, I want you to think 
of me always as a loving memory, and not with regret and aversion.” She 
lifted her sad, white face to his, and continued in a low voice : “ You do 
not think ill of me because — because I listened to you to-night? I dared 
not deny myself the solace of your sympathy. I have known so little in 
my life, and the temptation was so great. You will believe me when I tell 
you how grateful I am for your love? You will not think me a heartless 
coquette when I say that love is not for me ?” Her eyes were turned wist- 
fully towards him, and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. He would 
not have been a man, least of all a lover, if he had not been moved by her 
genuine grief. 

“ And if I tell you, Alice, that I do not care what the past has been, that 
I snap my fingers at these terrors you speak about, what then ? You may 
have suffered, but fire only purifies refined gold. Your life may have 
been one vast mistake, but I love you. You may have tricked and cozened 
others before this, but I love you. Yes, if you told me even that you had 
lived in the shadow of prison bars” — the hand he held trembled in his 
like a wounded bird — “my answer would still be the same : I love you.” 

She felt herself slowly yielding, carried away by the flood-tide of his pas- 
sion that seemed to overwhelm all the obstructions that lay between them. 
She knew his proud spirit and decisive will; should she trust herself to his 
mercy and pity, and tell him everything ? It was better to risk all than 
have him doubt her. He saw the determined look fade out of her eyes. 
She was yielding. She opened her lips to speak, to tell him all. Just 
then Mrs. Kalston’s impatient voice was heard calling her name from the 
piazza. She pressed his hand silently, and glided away among the trees, 
leaving him vexed and harassed by the most painful thoughts. 

“ I have been searching all over for you, child,” said Mrs. Kalston, look- 
ing a little suspiciously at Alice’s flushed face. 

“My head ached,” she explained, “ so much that I could not stay in the 
drawing-room. I think the best thing I can do is to slip away to bed.” 

Mrs. Ralston demurred at first, but seeing how pale and ill the girl 
really looked, was moved wutli compassion, and offered to make excuses to 
the guests in case she was missed during the rest of the evening. 

Alice crawled upstairs slowly. Her head seemed empty, and everything 
was dissolving slowly before her eyes. When she reached her room, she 
flung herself on the bed in all her crumpled finery, and cried like a child. 
The music throbbed beneath her, and she heard the tramp of the dancers’ 
feet as she lay there, a huddled heap among the pillows. But her thoughts 
were far away. 

It was daybreak when the music ceased, and she laid her tired head on 
the pillow and tried to sleep. The crowd had left the ball-room, and 
taken their little spites and flirtations and jealousies away with them for 
future use. Only a mingled odor of crushed flowers lingered in the air 
where the tide of silk and satin and broadcloth had ebbed and flowed at 
the music’s will. 

Lelia stood in the middle of the deserted room, picking her bouquet idly 
to pieces, and looking vacantly at the pale phantom she saw in the tall 


50 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


mirrors. Her slippers were muddy -where slie had walked through the 
grass, and the lace folds of her skirt dirty and tom by the bushes. 

The candles were burning low in the sockets, and through the open win- 
dow the pale gray light of dawn fell on the scattered rose-leaves on the 
door, and the fragments of torn lace that fluttered about in the fresh 
morning breeze. She shivered and closed her eyes wearily. The bare, 
deserted drawing-room seemed symbolic of the emptiness of her life, 
where only a few rose-leaves remained to remind her of a summer that 
had been, but would be no more. 


CHAPTER IX 

MR. HOSKINS PROVES HIS AUTHORITY. 

The night after the lawn-party took place, Harding walked across the 
velvety turf that divided the fishing- lodge from the villa grounds. He 
was in a very amiable frame of mind and, from time to time showed his 
even teeth in a smile when some sudden pleasant thought struck him. 

Varley’s importation of young men he had turned to profitable account; 
for, as it had rained all the morning, he had suggested a game of poker, 
ami the consequence was the guests took the afternoon train several hun- 
dred dollars poorer than they came. 

Some of this money was now jingling in Harding’s pocket, and the 
rattle of the coin was like pleasant music to his ears. Before that was 
gone he hoped to bring Varley within reach of Menzer’s tentacles, and then 
another tight little sum would fall into his lap. 

Altogether, things looked bright. If Alice would only prove a little 
more kind, he might have felt perfectly happy. He had been so used to 
ruling women that her obstinacy angered him, and yet it made him all the 
more eager to win her. She was so different from those of her sex he 
had known, that he felt for the first time in his life that it was something 
more than a passing fancy which brought him to her feet. He thought 
that he was really in love; forgetting that his feelings had undergone 
much the same change before. Have her lie must and would ; and he 
gritted his teeth determinedly together, as he thought how she had avoided 
him of late, and would never allow herself to be left alone with him. Yet, 
surely, with a jealous woman’s help he should be able to conquer her. 

The sound of a noisy altercation reached his ears as he neared the villa; 
. several voices were shrilly raised in anger. He hastened on, to find the 
i ladies of the household in a frightened group on the lawn. Near the 
porch a dirty, ragged-looking villain wa^ struggling in the clutches of 
Varley and the butler, Dawkins. 

“ I wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” whined the rascal, trying to blubber, and 
twisting his shaven bullet-head in a ludicrous fashion. 

“We found him wandering about the hall,” Varley explained, as Hard- 
ing came up. “ He was evidently taking a view of the house in order to 
break in some night.” 

“ Now don’t be hard on a eove, mister. I was only lookin’ for the boss, 
to ax if he wanted to hire some un to cut the grass.” Then, as his eyes 
fell on Harding, he grinned and said: “ ’Ere’s a gent as’ll speak a kind 
word for me.” 

“ Fellow ! I never saw you before,” turning on his heel and joining the 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAMS. 51 

ladies. He had recognized in the man in rags the tramp who had fright- 
ened Alice on that memorable ride. 

“ ’E’s a werry ’ard customer, hit’s my hopinion,” said the butler, 

‘ ‘ hand the best thing to do is to lock ’im hup in the stable huntil we ken 
get ’old huv a hofficer.” 

“But, Dawkins, he’ll burn the house down,” whispered Mrs. Kalston, 
with a shiver. 

“ We’ll see that he’s w^ell tied,” said Varley. “ Come, bring him along,” 
to the butler, hustling the tramp along in an unceremonious manner. As 
he was being taken reluctantly away, he suddenly stopped, and, with a 
leer, fixed his green eyes on Alice’s trembling face, as she stood trembling 
at the side of Mrs. Ralston. 

“ You looks kind-hearted, miss. You wouldn’t let a cove whose only sin 
was* his poverty be landed in jail for jest nothin’ at all — would you ?” 
And he brought out the last words with the emphasis of a command. 

Varley looked at her curiously, and was surprised to see how pale she 
had suddenly become, and that her lips trembled. But he only said, 
“Come along. You will get no pity here. So you may as well sub- 
mit.” 

The wretch bent on Alice such a malicious look that she made a step 
forward. 

“I — I wish you would let the poor fellow go,” she faltered, conscious 
that all eyes were fixed upon her. 

“You know this man?” asked Varley, and there w^as suspicion and vex- 
ation in his tone. 

Alice felt as if she was about to faint as her eyes met his. Fortunately 
the prisoner helped her out of the situation. 

“This lady was werry kind to me once before, when I was down on my 
luck. So I made so bold, knowin’ her kind heart, to ax her to say a good 
word for me to these gents and ladies.” 

“Tlien it is possible we have made a mistake,” said Varley, letting go 
the ragged sleeve he held. “ Is it true, what he says ?” turning liis piercing 
eyes on Alice’s shrinking face. “ Does he speak the truth ?” 

“Yes, it is true,” she said weakly, turning away her head. “He will 
not trouble you again if you let him go.” 

“ That I won’t, ma’am,” broke in the tramp. “And it’s werry kind in 
you to remember a poor chap like me as is in distress,” a trium])liant smile 
wreathing his besotted features as his eyes fell on the trembling girl. 

“ Well, don’t hallow yourself to be seen in these grounds hagai n, that’s 
hall,” said the butler, relinquishing his share of the prisoner with reluc- 
tance. “That face of yourn hain’t no hadornment to the wilhi grounds, I 
can tell ye ; and I’ll make so bold has to had to its hugliness if I sees it 
prowlin’ haround hafter dark.” 

“Thank you, sir, kindly,” said the man, shaking himself free, and but- 
toning his coat, which had been torn open in the struggle. Then, turning 
to the group, he made an elaborate bow. “ Ladies an’ gents, my respects ; ” 
then, with a grin at Alice that sent all the blood to her heart, “I ’opes 
that we sliall meet agin under more auspicious circumstances.” Then he 
shuffled away down the garden path, and was lost among the trees. 

“Oh, I know we shall all be burnt in our beds!” said Mrs. Ralston, 
gathering up her voluminous skirts, and tripping over the grass in the 
direction of the piazza, closely followed by the others. “ I’m afraid that it 
was a very unwise thing to let him go free, Clinton.” 

“ Yet since Miss Tyrell vouches for his honesty,” he muttered, while his 


52 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


face grew grave. “ After all, lie had not done anything when we found 
him.” 

“ Where did you meet the creature, xVlice ?” turning around to her com- 
panion. “ He certainly had most villainous features.” 

“It was over a year ago,” the girl stammered, conscious that Varley was 
studying her face with something more than curiosity. “ He was then 
working for a charitable institution, and the officer in charge spoke of him 
as reliable and trustworthy.” 

“She is not an accomplished liar,” said Lelia to Harding, as they came 
u[) the steps together behind the others. 

“ I only asked the circumstances, my dear,” said Mrs. Ealston, “because 
I know warm-hearted people get so taken in by some of these scamps. 
I’ve got so that I can’t trust any of them. The last time I was in New 
York I saw a poor man fishing a bread-crust out of an ash-barrel. He 
looked at me so pathetically that I thought I must give him ten cents. 
When I looked in my pocketbook I found nothing but a five-dollar bill, and 
told him so. ‘ Never mind, madam,’ he replied, ‘ I can change it.’ ” 

There was a general laugh, and then the widow added : 

“But I’m glad the poor wretch is free, if he’s honest. Yet the laW ought 
to make it punishable for a man to carry around a face like that to frighten 
people. You don’t look as if you had recovered from the excitement of the 
capture yet,” turning to Alice. 

Lelia nudged Harding, and they looked at each other significantly. 

“ Still,” she continued, “ we ought to be grateful for any little diversion 
down here. Positively there hasn’t been a scandal in town as far back as 
I can remember, while Long Branch has been supporting a little divorce- 
mill of its own, with all modern improvements.” 

“I hope you don’t want one of those little Palais Koyal comedies to 
transpire within your own gates,” said Varley, with a laugh. 

“ Oh dear, no !” gurgled the widow, “ for then I couldn’t talk about it. 
I do wisli, though, that something dramatic would put an end to this stag- 
nation. Now, at Monte Carlo or Baden-Baden you don’t have to yawn 
half the time. I want to live in summer as well as winter. I noticed two 
new wrinkles yesterday that I have acquired since I came here.” 

“ My recollections of Monte Carlo were hardly enlivening,” said Hard- 
ing, joining in the conversation. “ The systematic way in wliicli I dropped 
money was rather monotonous.” 

“I never asked you how you got homo after your losses there,” put in 
Varh^y. 

“T'he proprietors of the place always see that you. have enough to pay 
your passage,” said the other, with a laugh. But an old habitue of the 
roulette table put me iq) to a scheme to get some of the money back lost 
on the board. That was to wander about the grounds in a" rather di- 
shevelled state, looking very dejected, as if you contemplated suicide and 
were trying to find a picturesque spot to die in. MTien the proprietor sees 
you contemplate taking your life, he will give you a round sum to go and 
kill yourself somewhere else. It spoils the looks of his flower-beds to have 
cori)ses lying about in reckless profusion, and gives his house a bad name. 
He gave me a thousand francs to butcher myself on the premises of a rival 
establishment.” 

The dressing-bell rang for dinner, and the little company scattered to 
their various rooms. 

“Did you watch her face?” said Lelia, as she parted with Harding at 
the steps. “It was like death. There is some strange mystery here.” 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 53 

‘‘ Leave it all to me,” he said quickly. “If I am not mistaken, tliero 
will soon be a cliange in the tigiires on the board.” 

“ You speak decisively.” 

“Yes ; this is like a problem in chess ; and as I have studied it out, we 
shall checkmate in three moves.” 

Lelia’s face brightened. She ran upstairs singing, past Alice, who was 
toiling along slowly, looking pale and tired. 

After dinner Varley disappeared, lie did not stop for his usual cigar on 
the veraiKhi, but walked back alone to the lodge. 

Between putfs, as he smoked his pipe by the open window, he thought of 
the occurrences of the past few days — her equivocal answer on the night 
of the party, and now the appearance of this ragged stranger, whose pres- 
ence inspired her with terror. She had hinted at some sorrow in the past, 
some grave mistake in her life, that must always keep them apart 
from each other. Had this man anything to do with the menacing 
shadow ? 

In the fervor of his passion he had spoken at random words that he now 
regretted. He had told her that night that it mattered little what the mis- 
take of her life had been. He loved her, and that was enough. Now that 
his ardor had in a measure cooled off, he saw matters in the cold light of 
reason. Not that he loved her less ; but as doubts developed in his mind 
a spirit of caution controlled him. 

He was jiuzzled and harassed by the strange turn affairs had taken. Ho 
wanted to believe in her and trust her, but how was^ that possible when 
she would not give him her confidence, or let him help her ? 

Harding, who knew, or surmised, why Varley had taken himself off to 
the lodge so early in the evening, lounged in about nine o’clock. 

“ The moon is just rising,” he said, throwing himself down on the sofa. 
“ I was going to suggest that we take the ladies out for a row.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What do you think ?” 

“I think I shall stay here,” puffing vigorously at his pipe. “I’ve had 
rather a long day of it, and shall go to bed early.” 

“ I thought you looked pale at clinner.” 

“ Did you ?” 

“Yes.” 

They smoked in silence for some moments, and then Harding six)ko : 

“You won’t miryi my saying, old feP, that I believe you have something 
on your mind. For the past wee.c you’ve looked worried and fagged.” 

Varley cast a quick glance at the speaker, but Harding was gazing 
dreamily out on the waters of the inlet. 

“ I suppose it’s the warm weather,” returning to his pipe, and smoking 
on stolidly. “Just see if you can’t get that window up a little higher. Wo 
shall stifle in here,” pointing to the one by which his friend sat. “ Thanks I 
that will do nicely.” 

“ You won’t be angry if I say I think I know what this ailment is that 
you are suffering from ? ” said Harding, seating himself astride a chair. 

“ I know the symptoms, because I’ve had ’em myself.” 

“ Hum ! indeed !” 

“ Do you mind if I mention what I think troubles you?” 

“ Not at all.” Puff ! “Go ahead.” Puff ! puff ! 

“You are in love.’' 

Varley laid his pipe down, and went over to the window opposite, and 
looked out on the night. 


54 


TUB SHADOW OF THE BAES. 


“Why should I wish to conceal it ? ” he said. “ You are right. Am I to 
be congratulated ?” 

“ 1 fear not by me.” 

He turned like a Hash, and there was some anger in his face. It disap- 
peared before the calm glance that his friend returned. 

“ What do you mean ?” 

Harding wiited a moment, and then said gently: 

“You know what good friends we have been ever since -we met in 
Europe ; how we have had occasion at various times to help each other 
out of scrapes and difficulties. You know how much I am interested in 
your welfare.” 

The other nodded his head dumbly, as if in acknowledgment ; but his 
eyes seemed to say, “ Well, to what does all this preamble lead ?” 

Harding, however, gave him no chance to reply, but continued in the 
same soothing tone: 

“ It is natural, under the circumstances, that I should be solicitous about 
your future happiness, anxious that you should not cast away your heart 
on an unworthy object.” 

The other broke in upon him almost fiercely: 

“ What do you mean ? What do you insinuate ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ You do — you must. You know something. You are hiding something 
from me. Out with it !” and for the moment his eyes flashed angrily as he 
clenched his fist. 

Harding laid his hand soothingly on his friend’s shoulder, and when he 
spoke his voice seemed choked with emotion. 

“You do not resent this interest I take in you ?” he asked gently. “ It 
is not impertinent in me that I am watchful of your happiness ?” 

The other looked at him steadily, and his eyes fell. 

“Certainly not, certainly not!” he cried, grasping Harding’s hand 
warmly. “I have no secrets from you. Perhaps I have spoken too 
harshly. Forgive me ; I am not quite myself to-night.” 

“ I have something to tell you, if you think you can listen calmly; some- 
thing that concerns you deeply.” 

“I will listen,” said Varley, unsteadily. “Does it concern some one 
else ?” 

“ Yes.” 

He sighed, and walked over to the window again. 

“ I 'have been tormented with doubts myself,” he said. “ I hope to God 
you know nothing to confirm them.” 

“ If you had not acted like a brother to me, I would not risk your en- 
mity by mentioning my suspicions ; but I cannot see you calmly jeopardize 
your happiness when a simple word from me might save you,” Harding 
continued slowly. 

“Well,” said the other, impatiently. 

“ You noticed that scene to-day on the lawn. I will not mention names. 
You saw how her face paled when her eyes met his, and how she trembled 
with fright ?” 

Varley nodded silently. 

“ There is some secret tie that binds her to this man, depend on it. The 
appearance of a beggar she had befriended would not so work upon her 
imagination.” r 

Varley shuddered, and moved his feet uneasily. 

“ Yes, I saw it too,” he said. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


55 


“ I noticed her fright wlicn they met before. It was that day we rode 
to Spring Lake. This man was sleeping under a tree, and her horse took 
fright. She was the more frightened of the two when her eyes fell on his 
face. It was an expression she might have worn if a dead person had 
come to life before her eyes — full of abject fear and terror. She rode 
hastily away, as if anxious to get out of range of the scamp’s vicious eyes 
and repulsive face.” 

He paused to give weight to his words, as if he expected Varley to say 
something ; but only a sigh came from tlie other’s lips. 

“ Why should this man fill her with terror if her past had been without 
a stain — if it was spotless as the woman’s sliould be whom you will marry ? I 
make no aeeusations. I have no interest in the matter exeept to save }'ou 
from a step that may cost you your life’s happiness;” and he bent Ids 
eyes on his friend’s face with a glance full of tender solicitude and brotherly 
affection that might have deluded a more suspicious person than a blind 
lover. 

“ Is that all ?” asked Varley in a few moments. 

“No; there is still more.” 

“I am ready. I have heard so much that a little more cannot hurt 
me,” bitterly. 

‘ ‘ After 1 saw the effect the sight of this man had on her, I gained his 
confidence in the hoi)e of discovering the trouble. I thought he might be 
attempting to blackmail her, and I was anxious to get him out of the way. 
By liberal bribes I got him to show me a letter he had just received from 
her. It was couched in the most friendly terms, and, though not signed, 
there could be no mistaking the handwriting. It appointed an interview 
with him down by the old boat-house at the head of the inlet to-morrow 
night.” 

Something like a groan came from the direction where Varley was sitting. 
Harding congratulated himself on the success of his scheme. He thought 
he had said quite enough for one night, however, and would give the poison 
a ehance to work. After some moments’ silence, in which neither said a 
word, he walked over to his friend’s side. 

“You are not angry with me for telling you this ?” he asked. “It is a 
delicate matter to touch on, but I could not be silent.” 

“You did rigdit— perfectly right.” 

“ Of course it may turn out all well in the end, but I felt you ought to 
know what I had to tell you.” 

Varley reaehed out and shook his friend’s hand warmly. ‘ ‘ It was kind 
of you, old boy,” he murmured brokenly. “I shan’t soon forget it — I 
shan’t forget it. ” 

Harding bade him good-night, and marched upstairs to bed, chuckling 
softly to himself. ‘ ‘ Shake wrote a smart thing when he said lunatics and 
lovers were pretty mueh alike,” he said, as he struck a match. 

Varley sat looking out on the inlet glimmering in the moonlight, and his 
face seemed to have grown suddenly old and haggard. 

In the gay life he had led in the European capitals he had been infatu- 
ated with many women, who had been drawn to him by the spell of his 
handsome face. He had played at love even as the court of the prodigal 
Louis played at farming; but before this he had never known the true sig- 
nificance of the word. 

He had grown weary of women of the world, who had lost all their 
illusions, exhausted every sensation, seen everything, learned everything, 
experienced everything, and tired of everything, He had hungered to meet 


56 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


a womanly woman that the world had not robbed of truth and purity, and 
who still held those virginal perfections of soul and sense that would 
ennoble the man she loved. 

He was twenty-eight, and loved Alice very dearly— rather had loved, for 
now the airy structure he had built seemed crumbling to the dust, and he 
stood alone in the deserted ruin. 

He could quite understand now why she had refused to be his wife. She 
had spoken of a barrier between them; hinted at something shameful in 
the i)ast that must always keep them apart. 

Perhaps this wretched creature — But no, that was too absurd. He felt 
the close air of the room was choking him, and groped his way out into the 
night. 

! Villa Eden was dark except for a small light in the gable. It belonged, 
he knew, to her room. As he stood there a shadow of a woman’s ligure 
was seen on the window-curtain. A hand was thrust out, and sometliing 
white fell from it, fluttering to the ground. A crunching sound on the 
gravel followed — then silence. 

Vaiiey turned away sick at heart. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE RESULT OF AN INTERVIEW. 

Lelia was swinging lazily in a hammock on the veranda the next after- 
noon, a cool, crinkly heap of heliotrope silk, out of which her flulfy yellow 
head rose like a sunflower. One little foot, clad in russet leather, swung over 
the edge of the ropes, displaying rather more black stocking than society 
generally sanctions, but the negligent, careless attitude became this delicate 
little beauty. She seemed to assume naturally the airs of a demi-mondaine. 

Harding, who was sitting tailor-fashion near by, glancing over the morn- 
ing paper, was not made of wood, and he found himself admiring tho 
piquant face in its curly gold frame. 

“ What became of you last night?” she yawned, blinking at him. “ I 
think you men are perfect brutes to run off and let us poor women shift 
for ourselves. I dare say you drink and gamble and do all sorts of horrid 
things up in that nasty lodge. I knoAV I see some lights burning there half 
the night-” 

He laughed. 

“ If you didn’t sit up smoking cigarettes and reading George Moore and 
Gyp, you wouldn’t have your feelings hurt so much by our dissipations.” 

She clicked her French heels together viciously, and frowned. 

“ Can’t you imagine why we disappeared last night ?” 

‘‘No; and you need not tell me,” she said pettishly. 

“ But you are sure to feel interested. His suspicions have been aroused 
lately. He is troubled with doubts regarding a certain young person — ” 

“ And you ?” with an appearance of interest. 

“ Well, I went over to console him.” 

She laughed. “ A nice consoler, you!” 

“Never mind, my dear, the campaign opens famously. Just let me 
have my own way, and we shall win. You must not question my methods.” 

“ They are very sure to be questionable,” she muttered. 

“Already he begins to distrust her, and you may well believe that I did 
not attempt to free his mind of suspicion. While you have been yawning 


TIII^] SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


57 


fiiiil grumbling over your fate, 1 have been spreading a snare for your lovo' 
bird. Yet I don’t believe that you are grateful a bit.” 

“ I might be,” she drawled, “ if 1 thought you were an entirely disinter- 
ested party. But as you are scheming (juite as much to gain your own 
ends as mine, you will excuse me if I reserve my grateful tears for a more 
imi)ressive occasion.” 

“ Don't you suppose that I am actuated by any friendly feeling for you 
in tliis matter ?” he said in a little lower voice, as he turned his dark blue 
eyes towards hers. 

‘ Now you are not going to be sentimental ?” with an air of ennui. 

“No.” 

“ Because if you are I shall leave you in double-quick order. There is 
just one man in this world whom I allow to be sentimental, and — ” 

“ And he happens to be sentimental with the wrong woman,” laughed 
Harding, maliciously. “I suppose that is what you were going to 
say.” 

Mrs. Ralston entering just then put an end to the conversation. 

“ Why do you two wander off into lonely corners by yourselves ?” asked 
the widow, rustling into a New England rocker whose flaming red arms 
made her look as if she was clasped by a boiled lobster of extraordinary 
size. “ If I didn’t think Lelia was Clinton’s property I should say you two 
were in love with each other,” rocking back and forward vigorously. 

“ What an idea !” laughed the heap of heliotrope silk, kicking out a wild 
little foot in order to start the hammock in motion again. “ We don’t look 
like spoons, do we ?” 

“No, not just now,” Mrs. Ralston admitted. “ When I come upon you 
suddenly you change your expressions. You remind me of the villains 
in a melodrama who whisper huskily to each other when the heroine 
appears, ‘ We must dissemble.’ ” 

I larding laughed, and then asked what had become of Miss Tyrell. 

“ I left her singing in the parlor. Strange what a fancy that girl has for 
lugubrious lays. She has a good voice, and I should like to hear her sing 
if "she Avould only keep out of graveyards and steer clear of ‘dear dead 
Junes ’ and broken hearts. Do you believe in such a thing as a broken 
heart, Mr. Harding?” 

“ Well, I’ve never been troubled with such a thing myself, but I believe 
among your sex it is considered quite a fashionable complaint.” 

“ Perhaps Miss Tyrell has had some trouble that makes her sad,” said 
Lelia, in an absent-minded way, as her eyes turned listlessly to the inlet, 
that shone like a sheet of polished tin in the hot noonday sun. 

^[rs. Ralston shook her curly head slowly and mournfully. 

“ I wish my life had been eventful, so that I could look back with regret 
or pleasure and have something to think about. My girlhood was as bare 
of romance as an oyster’s. Yes, more so; for an oyster can speculate on 
how and by whom he shall be eaten.” 

“ You never told us your love-story,” said Lelia. 

“Because there was none to tell,” with a long-drawn sigh. “I was 
brought up on oatmeal and Tapper’s Proverbial Philosophy as a child, and 
at Christmas time for a treat was taken to visit my grandfather’s tomb. 
In spite of these drawbacks to the development of the imagination, I had 
[uctured to myself the lover who would free me some day from the parental 
tlirahloni.” Hhe .stopped to laugh. “ He was built on Die lines of Ouida’s 
heroes: six feet high; sca-blue eyes; cavalry mustache; large kissalle 
mouth; almond-shaped nails, and a mortgage on his home,” 


TIIR SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


r)8 


‘‘And yon found this pootic prodigy?’ asked Harding, with a smile. 

She shook her head. 

“JMy family liad fixed and original ideas about seleeting a husband. 
They argued that he should have all the qualities that wei*e lacking in the 
Avife, so that they might mutually support each other. ATith such settled 
views they ranged the market for a h usband for me. As T was handsome — ” 

Lelia coughed significantly, Imt ^Irs. Kalston went right on. 

“He, of course, was nece.ssarily plain. As I knew jnost of the modern 
accom[)lishments, he knew nothing of art or music.” 

“ But he had money,” put in Lelhi, slyly. 

“ 1 had some knowledge of books, and the only ones he ever opened were 
his cash-]>ook and ledger. You may imagine,” with a sigh, “how bare my 
life was of any incident. You young people don’t appreciate the freedom 
you enjoy.” 

“Oh, don’t we !” chimed in Miss Ferris. “ I should like to see mamma 
shove any old remnant off on me for a husband, that’s all !” kicking out 
viciously. 

“ Keally, Lelia, you get more slangy every day,” groaned the Avidow. 
“ I can’t imagine where you get such a horrid vocabulary from.” 

“ AVell, Avhy didn’t you make him jealous ?” pretending not to hear. “ I 
should ha\"e led him a pretty dance,” tossing her head. 

“ My dear, if you only knew ! I tried everything, but he refused, pos- 
itively, to be suspicious. 1 Avrote notes to myself in a masculine hand, and 
left them about everywhere, in the hopes that he Avould see them. He 
never took the trouble to impure into them. Getting desperate, 1 thought 
I Avould give him a good fright. I Avent out shopping in the afternoon, and 
did not come back until ten o’clock. Found the house all dark, and every 
Avindow and door closed tight. It began to snow, and, as I had no money 
to go to a hotel, I sat doAvn on the steps, and cried until daybreak. I 
believe he Avas laughing at me all the time behind the shutters. At break- 
fast he asked me Iioav I had slept, and then he Avinked as if he knew more 
than he cared to tell. I never tried to make him jealous after that.” 

Lelia laughed. 

“ A^oii certainly liaA^e had a hard time of it. Aunt Mary. Still, there AA^as 
some compensation for this martyrdom. If you cannot look back, you can 
look ahead.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Ralston, pensively, turning her engagement-ring'around 
her fat Avliite finger, Avhere the sun Avould strike it; “but still it is pleasant 
to have some mystery or romance connected Avith one’s life. It lifts you 
above the croAvd, aaTio are only bent on money-getting.” 

“ You ought to go in for spiritualism,” said Harding, Avith a smile. “I 
dare say you might find some intelligent spectre out of a job Avho Avould 
help you Avhile aAvay your hours of meditaHon.” 

“I liaA’e thought of that,” AAuth a little gurgling laugh. “But there, 
you young people never have any patience Avith an old Avoman’s vagaries. 
Just wait until you liaA^e buried your illusions, and you Avill feel as 1 do;” 
stopping to Avipe her face carefully Avith a Avisp of cambric, so as not to 
disturb the deposit of rose-Avater and bismuth. 

“Well, I’m for a game of laAvn-tennis !” exclaimed Lelia, bouncing out 
of her hammock in a flutter of starched skirts. “I shall yaAvn my head 
off if I lie here much longer. Come, Mr. Harding.” 

“I— I—” 

“ You are coming with me,” pinching his arm. Y’^aAvning, he folloAvs 
her into the hall where the racquet-case is to bo found. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


59 


Mrs. Ralston looks aftei* her niece, and sighs. Lelia is not an easy one 
to manage all summer; but as her own girlhood was a failure, she is dis- 
posed to be lenient towards the young heiress’s escapades. 

Mrs. Ferris has gone to Bournemouth in search of health, — she is always 
either going or coming from some health resort,— so she took the opportunity 
of packing her daughter otf to Villa Eden. 

Lelia was not sorry, for she eared a great deal more for her aunt, who 
was jolly iind easy-going, while her mother was stitf and cold and intensely 
practical. 

ISIrs. Ralston was watching the game on the lawn with a regretful eye 
that she had grown too stout to join it. 8hc was one of those women who,i 
after they have passed thirty-live, begin to wrestle at close quarters with! 
time and wrinkles, and arc fairly successful in defying for several years! 
the attentions of the old gentleman with the hour-glass. ' 

Her life with Mr, Ralston, as she had frankly stated, was a book of blank 
pages, and freedom and fortune had come to her too late to bring her any 
romance. 

Her youth was gone, and the hopes and aspirations of girlhood; all that 
remained to her were such pleasures that could be bought for money. 

She might have married again had she cared, but she was enough of a 
woman of the world to see through the specious schemes of the money- 
hunters who surrounded her. Twenty loveless, heart-hungry years were 
quite enough for one woman’s life, she thought, and she did not see the 
advantage of paying a man a salary for using his name, which would, i)rob- 
ably, be not near as musical as her own. Having no past to look back 
upon and dream over, and little promise in the future. Mi’s. Ralston lived 
wholly in the present, and the search for new pleasures and sensations oc- 
cupied most of her time. 

Having made a loveless marriage herself, she was a strong advocate of 
natural selection; and being generally surrounded with young people, she 
moved them about like chessmen, working one certain pet problem of her 
own on the board. 

“ Mercy, child, how you frightened me !” exclaimed Mrs. Rslston, waking 
from the half doze into which she had fallen, as Alice entered softly. 

“ I am sorry I disturbed you,” timidly; hesitating whether she should 
sit down or not. 

“ Don’t go. I don’t want to think, and I’m glad you roused me up. You 
look completely run down, my dear; don’t you feel well ?” stroking the soft 
brown hair with a sympathetic hand. “ Your eyes are as big as a bogie’s.” 

“ 1— I did not sleep very well last night,” faltered Alice. “ This warm 
weather is very trying. ” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Ralston, fanning herself vigorously, “those rooms are 
perfectly unbearable upstairs, so I came to this corner hoping to find it a 
little cooler. Look at that pair out on the lawn, daneing around as if the 
thermometer was below zero. My ! how glad I shall be when Lelia Ferris 
is married ! I would rather take charge of a dozen boys than such a roar- 
ing tornado. It makes me hot just to look at her.” 

“Miss Ferris is engaged, I believe?” said Alice, bending her face down 
close to the fancy-work ^he had brought with her. 

“ Oh yes— that is, not exactly an engagement, but pretty much the same 
thing. You see — But where can Clinton be ? I haven’t seen him since 
breakfast. There’s something on his mind— I’ve noticed it of' late. I do 
hope he has not got into debt thi’ough that horrid Monmouth track. You 
have not scon him to-day, Alice ?” 


60 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


“ I was late at breakfast, and then he had gone,” searcliing for a lost 
stitch in her embroidery. She had an idea why he had absented himself 
from the house that day. 

“ Clinton has such expensive tastes,” said the widow, with a sigh, “ that 
he gets into trouble sometimes. Too proud to let me know he needs money, 
dear boy. Just as if he wouldn’t have every i)enny some day !” 

Alice worked on at her embroidery, and Mrs. lialston again turned her 
drowzy eyes towards the lawn and the figures with heated faces lounging 
under one of the trees. The heat was oppressive, and soon the widow 
glided away into the land of dreams, while Alice worked on and tliought. 

It was sundown before Mrs. Ralston woke out of her doze and suggested 
that it was lime they should go upstairs and dress. 

Lclia was already bustling around in her room, singing a sad love-song 
as she wrapped her lithe little body in a new Canton silk dress she had 
received that day from New York. 

“ Why did we meet 
To be so cruelly severed, 

Just as w'e have learned 
To love each other so !” 

The words rang like a dull pain through Alice’s brain, and she leaned 
against the wall, conscious that her heart was beating wildly. Why, in- 
deed, did they meet at all ? she moaned, as she felt her- way blindly to the 
little room in the gable. 

It was quite dark when the late dinner was finished. Varley had not 
come back, and the meal was disposed of silently, with few attempts at 
conversation, though Mrs. Ralston made strenuous efforts to keep it up. 

When Alice walked down the terraces and took the path along the water’s 
edge, Harding and Miss Ferris exchanged significant glances. 

“ She has gone to meet Don Cmsar,” whispered Delia. 

“ There may be one there she does not expect,” he replied quietly. 

Mrs. Ralston broke in on their asides, by questioning Harding about his 
visit to Monte Carlo, and then followed an interminable discussion, it 
seemed to Delia, on the subject of gambling systems and martingales. 

Alice’s white dress had disappeared among the trees. She was walking 
rapidly in the direction of the old boat-house, anxious to finish the inter- 
view as soon as possible, and hurry back before Mrs. Ralston should miss 
her. 

Hoskins had promised that for a certain sum he would go away and not 
trouble her again. She had been unable to get the amount in ready 
money, Init was in hopes he would accept some jewelry instead. 

Since his appearance in the neighborhood, she had not known a moment’s 
peace. Day and night the shadow of his presence rested heavily upon her, 
and the burden of doubt and despair was breaking her down. To-night 
she would appeal to the wretch on her knees to spare her. She would 
show him that she was penniless and had no more to give, and perhaps 
even such as he would find pity for her. 

She knew for the first time how much she loved Clinton Varley, now 
that there was a chance of losing him. She was alone in the world, and 
his love had fallen like grateful rain on the parched desert of her life. 
To give him up she felt would be worse than death; and yet she did not 
dare to tell him of that sad chapter in her past, that haunting shadow 
that blighted her life. She had tried so hard not to love him, had battled 
against thg tide that bore her irresistibly along; but her struggle had been 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAliS. 61 

i!i vain, and now slie was a suppliant at his feet, a poor weak woman, 
with no one to guide her. 

She hurried on through the woods. It seemed as if the shrubbery was 
full of dreadful shadows. A crashing among the undergrowth startled 
her, and she gave a little scream. She looked up to see Varley in the mid- 
dle of the path, eying her curiously He looked heated and weary, and 
his face was flushed a bright red, from a day in the sun. 

'J'here was something sardonic, she thought, in the smile he gave her, as 
he lifted his hat with a graceful gesture. 

“ I seem to have startled you, Miss Tyrell. Evidently I was not the one 
you expected.’’ 

She lowered her eyes before his searching glance. 

“Let me accompany you back to the house,” he continued. “The 
night is damp and the place is lonely. Come.”, 

“ I — 1 should prefer to walk a little farther,” stammering. “ I have 
not been out all day, and I thought a walk might do me good,” twisting at 
a button on her dress with nervous fingers. 

“ I will only detain you a moment,” he said gravely, still blocking up 
the way with liis broad shoulders. “In the villa grounds there are many 
listeners, and we may not have a chance to meet alone again.” 

She bowed her head for answer. 

He passed his hand wearily over his forehead as if it pained him, and 
looked at the flushed face with longing, lo\iug eyes. 

“ I tried to go away to-day without seeing you, but I was more of a coward 
than I thought. I felt I must look on your face again before this long 
parting. I want to be just and honest. I do not want to act in haste, 
and reap a life-long sorrow afterwards. What has happened during the 
past few day has bewildered and confused me. Your strange refusal, the 
appearance of this man — everything points to a mystery that should never 
come between lovers.” 

“ Can you not trust me?” she murmured, conscious that his glances are 
burning her, and that her heart is throbbing wildly. 

“God knows how much I want to believe in you. But how can there 
be mutual trust where there is doubt? If you have a burden, let me share 
it with you. I am sure that there is nothing shameful in your life. You 
are exaggerating some little past trouble. You have made mistakes, but 
you have never sinned. Let us start fair. Let it ])e trust for trust.” 

And he held out his arms and looked at her with beseecliing eyes. 

“O God ! I cannot tell you — I cannot !” Then, forgetting the impor- 
tance of her errand, she turned and would have fled from him if he had 
not grasped her arm. 

“Alice, look at me,” he commanded; but she only raised her head, while 
her eyes avoided him. When she did turn her face, it was with the })iteous 
expression that comes into a dog’s eyes when his master is about to kill 
him. 

He looked past her when he spoke, unable to remain firm before their 
silent eloquence; but his hand on her wrist tightened, and his voice was 
low and uncertain, “ A woman may nd'use a man for a mere caprice, be- 
cause she is tired of him and he no longer amuses her. I have heard of 
such things, and wondered at his patience. I demand that you shall tell 
m'o what this secret is— this shadow that you have conjured up between us, 
like a ghost-story to frighten a child.” 

The moment he had delivered himself of this speech he was sorry. Her 
eyes met his with an unflinching glance. 


62 


THE SIIAHO W OF THE BAFS. 


“ You demand it?” slie echoed, “By what right ? Because I am a poor 
dependent on the bounty of a relation?” 

He made a negative gesture which she did not notice. 

“Because I have suft’ered, and dare not tell you why, you are angry. 
Search your own heart, and see if all the years of your life are free from 
blame. 1 am content to bear my burden alone — as I have in the past, as I 
shall until the last hour.” 

“ Alice, hear me,” he protested. 

“ You did me the honor to ask me to be your wife. I told you why I 
could not accept the sacrifice. Love cannot live without trust; and though 
the temptation was great, because I had suffered much, 1 dared not lift 
the cup of happiness to my lii)s. If I have led you on by false hopes, for- 
give me.” Her voice was sad, and she breathed with difficulty. “ Better 
still, forget me.” 

“Alice! Alice I” he cried, stretching out his hands to her. But she 
had glided away among the trees, and he was alone with the gathering 
shadows and his own miserable thoughts. 

He regrettetl his passionate words, and longed to run after her and ask 
forgiveness. He had behaved like a brute, and she wais right in being 
angry. Ho would trust her, secret or no secret; she was necessary to his 
happiness. Then nine o'clock struck, and his face clouded over. He 
thought of her mysterious mission that night, and how worried she seemed 
because of the delay he had caused her by his appearance. 

She had given up the idea of going to the old boat-house. He could hear 
the sound of her footsteps on the gravel, dying away in the direction of 
the villa. Varley looked around him with an uncertain expression in his 
face, bewildered and confused; then he shut his teeth determinedly to- 
gether, and lacking up his fishing-rod, went crashing through the underbrush. 

Hoskins, who was smoking a pipe on the end of the moss-covered i)i('r, 
where of old the duck-boats had been moored, gave vent to a whistle when 
he saw whom he had to deal with. He would have much preferred that 
Alice should have come herself, men were not so easily bullied. Still he 
put on an air of unconcern and went on smoking stolidly. 

“Night, guv’nor.” 

“ G(h, up. I want to speak to you.” 

Hoskins lumbered ungracefully to his feet, and tried to look uncon- 
cerned. His visitor’s face did not inspire him with courage. Varley 
spoke nervously, as if he was in a hurry. 

By some means — I do not know how — you have succeeded in frighten- 
ing a guest at our house — a young lady. I don’t care on what grounds 
you attempt to blackmail her, but it has got to stoj) you must go away.” 

“'riiat’s worry well to talk about, but I expect to get paid" for movin’ 
on,” taking his jiipe out of his mouth and grinning. “If you mean to 
talk business, why, I’m on.” 

Varli'y took some bills out of his pocket-book and laid them on a bench 
by which they stood talking. 

“ There is a hundred dollars ; take it and go.” 

The-inan counted the money over slowly, and said with a leer, as he put 
it away in the lining of his hat : “ I didn’t s’pose a gent like you’d be so 
jealous o’ my attentions to your gal.” 

Varley struck him full in the face a terrible blow. Hoskins fell in a 
huddled, shapeless heap on the slimy flooring. 

“ That’s on account. If I meet you again, by God, I’ll kill you !” and 
trembling with rage, he strode away through the underbrush. 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAliS. 


63 


Hoskins, seated on the ground, wliimpercd out a few curses, but lie made 
no attempt to follow. He was occupied for the next hour in bathing his 
bruises. 

Alice came down late the next morning after a sleepless night. They 
were talking about Harding’s sudden departure on the morning train for 
New York. Under her plate she found a card bearing the words, “ He 
will trouble you no more,” and knew who had Avritten it. 


CHAPTER XL 

A DESPERATE CHANCE. 

Everyone at Villa Eden felt the change after Varley AA^ent aAvay. Mrs. 
Ralston having discovered that Alice kneAV French, found it much easier in 
siic’i torpid Aveather to lie in a cool hammock, with a pitcher of chmT-ciip 
at iier white elboAV, and have Gny de Maupassant’s naughty marionettes 
dance before her half-closed eyes, Avithout having to hold the book. 

Alice AA^as called upon at all hours of the day to minister to the AvidoAv’s 
caprices, and in the evening sang in the parlor, picking out the airs in the 
dark, Avhile Mrs. Ralston ruminated on the possibilities of her life if she 
had never happened to have met her husband. 

What made the poor girl’s lot even more hard to bear AAms the suspicion 
Avith which she was regarded even by the servants ; for Mrs. Ralston 
throAV out hints that she Avas pretty Avell accpiainted Avith the circumstan- 
ces that sent Varley aAvay. Lelia lost no opportunity, either, of making 
herself disagreeable ; but as the season Avas almost at an end, Alice thought 
she had better try and stay it out. 

She did not want to trouble John Gartlnvaite again so soon ; and as she 
liad saA^ed up very little money, it Avas best, perhaps, to bc'ar Avith the little 
Avorries and troubles that harassed lun*. 

From Varley she had receiA^ed one letter since he Avent aAA^ay — a long 
rambling epistle in Avhich he asked forgiveness foi- making her the subject 
of unjust suspicion, and ending Avith the statement that he hoped to return 
in a fcAV days, Avhen all doubts Avould be cleared aAvay. 

This letter filled her Avith glorious dreams, and her eyes AA-ere brighter 
and her step lighter than they had been in many months." Lelia Avondered 
angrily Avhat had Avrought the change. 

ScA^eral AA^eeks of silence folio Aved this letter, and Alice felt the old de- 
spair again take possession of her heart. Since he had gone aAvay she 
thought of him through all her Avaking hours Avith infinite tenderness, 
until his memory aatts glorified in her sight. He Avas idealized, and his very 
faults, vieAA^ed in the Inminous light of her 1 oax‘, became exalted virtues. 
She worshipped him in her thoughts, and as time ])assed his image greAV 
more dear to her. Of course she had treated him abominably, and it AViis 
all her fault he had gone aAvay in disgust. Her soft Avomans heart fouiul 
abundant reasons for self-accusation. 

He had told her Iioav much he IovchI her, and she had put him off Avith 
ambiguous ansAA^ers and mysterious reasons. He Avas justified in regarding 
her as a heartless coquette Avho had led him on that she might enjoy her- 
self jilting him in the end. 

Hoav many self-criminating thoughts ran through the poor childs head 
as she criecl QA’er that little note he had sent her in the loneliness of 
her room ! 


64 


THE SHADOM' OF TILE BARS. 


Now that there seemed to be a chance of losing him, she saw that she 
had made a mistake in not telling him everything. 

Wlien his love was strongest she had been afraid to speak out, and now 
perliaps she would never see him again. She could not find words strong 
enough to condemn herself for having made him an exile from heart, and 
her eyes would fill with tears as she thought of his last words. 

She could not give him up. He had become a part of her life, and she 
could not suffer him to go away from her in silence. 

All her pride was humbled in the dust before this memory she worshipped, 
and the consciousness that she might never meet him again sent ter- 
ror to her soul. Every day that passed without bringing her any let- 
ter from him added to her misery, and she found herself planning the wild- 
est schemes to see him again. For see him she must, even if he spurned 
her. 

Harding now thought that in Varley’s absence he had a clear field, and 
renewed his attentions, and it seemed to the poor girl that circumstances 
threw them a great deal together. He was not disposed, however, to 
hurry things, but gave her to understand that she was besieged, and that it 
was only a question of time when she must surrender unconditionally. 
His attentions were not so marked that she could openly rebuke him, and 
yet he seemed to feel the assurance of ultimate success. 

They were all sitting down to dinner one evening, when Lelia rustled in, 
very lovely in a soft, fluffy dress that looked like whipped cream. 

Even Harding nodded approval as he took a mental inventory of her 
charms. Her eyes were flashing as if she had heard some good news. 
Mrs. Kalston, however, was not in a good humor, and frowned on her 
niece as that young lady sat down. She had no eye for feminine beauty, 
and her favorite bisque of lobster was getting cold. 

“ I really think, Lelia, that you might try and be here when the meals 
are ready. It isn’t as if you were in a place where there was so much 
gayety that you couldn’t be punctual. AVe’ve been waiting fully a half- 
liour,” irritably. 

“ Well, my dear aunt,” said Miss Ferris, taking a swallow of sauterne, 
“so seldom anything happens in this stupid place that I was bound to 
make the most of the opportunity. I’ve been over to the hotel, playing 
tennis all the afternoon,” crunching a radish in her squirrel -like teeth. 
“ Val Dinsmore was there — came down to stay a few days at the hotel.” 

“ Of the Madison Avenue Dinsmores ?” asked Mrs. Ralston. “ I thought 
they had gone to Newport.” 

“Yes; his family are there now, but he ran down here to see a young 
Englishman — awful cad, too — whom he met on the Continent last summei\ 
Now, aunt, I’ve got a delightful bit of gossip for you” — with a laugh 
“just what you’ve been ^sighing for all summer. The only trouble is — ” 

“ Well, what’s the trouble ?” 

“ It’s about Clint.” 

She looked over quickly in the direction of Alice, but that young lady 
did not seem to be interested in anything but her plate. 

“Oh, I do hope it’s nothing awful,” said Mrs. Ralston, rolling her eyes 
in a way that she supposed denoted sympathy. 

“ Awfully funny,” giggled Lelia. “You see, Val stopped overnight in 
New York on the way here, and, from all I can hear, went in for a high 
old time.” ^ 

“ Lelia !” shuddered the widow. 

“ Yes’m. He went to the theatre with a Union Club man, and who 


THE SHADOW OF THE DABS. 


slionld they see sitting there in a, box with an actress from the Alhambra 
but Clint! VaFs friend said he had often seen them out together, and 
that she seemed to be accumulating diamonds by the peck,” 

This time Lelia was rewarded by seeing Alice turn pale. Having been 
in hopes she would scream, or faint, or make a scene, the result was 
disappointing. Instinctively the poor girl felt that some blow was aimed 
at her, and had bowed her head in submission when it fell, 

“ Ah me I” sighed Mrs. Ralston, trying to look horrified. “ Dear Clin- 
ton always was so soft-hearted where a woman was concerned. I’m afraid 
he may have fallen into unscrupulous hands this time,” and she returned 
to the piece of fish she had been poising on her fork during the last part 
of the conversation. 

In her heart of hearts Mrs. Ralston w’ould have gladly been a most 
dangerous flirt herself, if nature had only provided her with the necessary 
weapons. She envied those of her sex who were able to twist men around 
their little white fingers, and she had an awe and admiration for profes- 
sional coquettes who knew their business. 

“ Well, there's one comfort, anyway,” she said, at length. “ The sooner 
the dear boy runs through his quarter’s money, the sooner I shall see 
him.” 

Harding laughed in his sleeve at this philosophic remark. He had 
already hinted to Varley that Menzer would loan him money whenever he 
wanted it, and had no doubt that venerable octopus had already succeeded 
in getting hold of his friend. 

After Lelia had delivered her budget of news, there was little more con- 
versation during the meal. Everyone had something to think about after 
the intelligence was received. 

Harding felt pretty sure now of his victory, and was concocting a plan 
that would leave Alice no other alternative but to accept him. Lelia was 
enjoying the triumph of having caused her rival pain, and Mrs. Ralston was 
wondering how soon she would see her nephew, and if his debts would be 
heavier than last time. 

Alice took the first opportunity, when the meal was over, to slip away 
to her room. She could not sit among them any longer that evening, 
when her heart was bursting with anguish, 

;Mrs. Ralston must do without her for one night. She could not, would 
not, face the sneers and insinuations that seemed driving her mad. An- 
other hour and she might not have been able to conceal the agony that was 
consuming her. 

Long after the butler had gone the rounds to put out the lights, she sat 
by her window looking out on the stars and the waste of spangled se.a-^ 
waters beyond. 

Her eyes, in their fixed intensity, turned northward, where lay the ter- 
rible city that had robbed her of her love. The echo of his voice and hers, 
this woman’s, was sounding in her ears above the hollow murmurs of 
the surf, and in her fancy she saw them pass like phantoms, hand in 
hand. 

Alice eovered her face with her hands to shut out the sight, and wept 
bitterly. 

For at least an hour she sobbed as if her heart would break, and it did 
her good. The dawn was just breaking when she roused herself. Her 
face was white as the dead, but in her (‘yes shone a fixed resolution as she 
hurriedly changed her dress and batlu^d her face in the cool water. 

The edge of the sun above the horizon had tinted the sea a pale lemon 


66 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


color, and the chill air sent a shiver through her as she wrote a few 
trembling lines on a card and put them in her mirror. 

Then she crept downstairs and out on the road. 

At the gate something touched her,, and she paused in affright. It was 
Mrs. Kalston’s Danish fox-hound, who had followed her and now frisked 
and leaped about her witli every expression of joy at seeing her. She laid 
her hand caressingly on his head, while tears fell on his glossy fur. After 
all, she was leaving one friend behind her. 

Then brushing away the mist in her eyes, she motioned to him sternly to 
go back, and went out in the road alone. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“love is lord of thee and me.” 

Alice knew she was about to do a very unwomanly thing; that it was. 
wrong to show her weakness so openly before him; but despair had made 
her cast away her pride, and she was only a miserable woman about to 
stake her all on a chance. 

The noisy depots jarred and confused her when she arrived in the city, 
and she felt more than ever the lonely helplessness of her position among 
the rustling, bustling crowds -and the rolling vehicles in the streets. 

Once free of tlie line of hackmen who menaced her life, she found a cab, 
and was driven to a modest little hotel on a back street, where she had 
stopped once before on lier visit to New York. 

Why did everyone stare at her so as she walked into the office and regis- 
tered her name, her real name, in a trembling hand? Were despairing 
women so scarce in this diabolical city that they regarded her with such 
curious eyes ? 

1 Once in her room, she hastened to put on a heavy veil, and to make some 
changes in her toilet that would better conceal her identity. She almost 
cried when she saw how ghastly lier face wjxs, and how swollen her eyes 
from many sleepless nights. She wanted liim to see her looking at her 
best, and she was worn and haggard and old. She hurried away lest the 
sight of her own face should unnerve her. 

The carriage picked its way slowly through the crowded streets in the 
direction of up-town, while Alice leaned back on the cushions and thought 
over what she would say when they met, and wondered how he would 
reply. 

Tlie noise of the streets came like a far-off murmur to her ears, and the 
people coming nnd going passed before her eyes like the phantoms of a 
dream, vague and blurred and indistinct. 

As she neared her destination a faintness seized her, and she was almost 
tempted to turn and go back, but where ? 

The great frowning flats that seemed to rise almost to the clouds terrified 
her, and for some moments she stood in front of the cavernous portal, hesi- 
tating and looking around in despairing doubt. Then seeing that people 
on the street were regarding her curiously, she set her teeth firmly together 
and entered the building. 

For a moment she almost forgot the serious character of her mission in 
the vast hall, with its jewelled windows and tessellated floor. She had 
never been in such a place before, and her eyes dilated with wonder as she 


THE 8UAD0W OF THE BARS. 


67 


was whirled up to the fifteenth story in a gilded car, upholstered in blue 
satin and gold that might have answered for the boudoir of a duchess. 

The sight of Varley’s name on a brass door-plate recalled all her doubts 
and fears, and it was a tremulous hand that raised the knocker and let it fall. 

A prim old man-servant opened the door, whom she could not remember 
having seen before. He was in nowise put out on meeting a young- woman 
caller, and ushered her into the parlor, saying that he expected Mr. Var- 
ley in every moment, as it was almost time for him to return from the club. 

Alice sank into one of the soft arm-chairs with a sense of rest and 
relief. She was rather glad not to find him in just then, for she felt 
it would give her more assurance if she became accustomed to her sur- 
roundings. 

It was a pretty little parlor, with a great bow- window at one end over- 
looking the city, and the brazen-looking rivers that glittered like molten 
metal in the sun. 

Spindle-legged chairs, of dainty effeminate appearance, and distorted 
tables of teak wood, carved with asps and Japanese monstrosities, covered 
the Persian rugs. The taste of a woman was displayed in the arrangement 
of the swinging cabinets on the wall, where glittering sconces of oxidized 
silver and repousse copper sparkled among the ebony carvings and nodding 
ostrich-plumes. 

From the arch of the bow- window a scarlet and green parrot swung 
on a silver ring. 

“ He’s all right !” screamed the bird, frightening Alice almost out of her 
senses. But she could not restrain a smile as he arched his head on one 
side and winked at her knowingly, with that Uas^ixw peculiar to parrots 
that have seen the world. 

Alice was too nervous to sit still very long, and there were so many 
pretty things to attract her attention. They had a sacred interest in her 
eyes because they were his. Her sombre figure moving among the delicate 
embossed satins that covered the furniture and the rich plush curtains 
presented a marked contrast. She saw it herself in one of the long mirrors, 
and smiled sadly. She was plainly out of place in such dainty surround- 
ings. 

Every little trifle in the cabinets she examined, wondering in her heart 
at the same time when he had bought them and where, and if a woman 
had helped him make the selections. 

In one corner stood an ebony and ivory secretary, inlaid wondrously 
with dancing fauns and acanthus-leaves in curious designs. The leaf was 
down, and she saw that there was a sheet of note-paper, lying there with 
some writing on it, as if a letter had been begun by some one. She moved 
away. She knew it would be wrong to read what was there, ^and yet she 
^burned to master its contents. 

The little slip of white paper possessed a terrible fascination for her, and 
she no longer felt any interest in the bric-a-brac. She leaned on the mantel- 
piece, and her eyes wandered slowly over the room, returning at last to the 
piece of note-paper on the secretary. 

“I see you !’’ screamed the parrot, and she started guiltily. 

She leaned a moment to hear if anyone was coming, and then walked 
stealthily over to the desk and read slowly the words that were written on 
the paper. 

There was no address or signature, but she knew liis handwriting too 
well; had she not cried over it night after night in that little room by the 
sea. 


68 


THE SHADOW OF THE BADS. 


It was a passionate avowal of love that she read, in which the writer 
humbled himself in the dust and begged forgiveness for some fancicid 
wrong. She read every word with burning eyes. On the blotting-pad, 
near by, lay an envelope directed to “ Mile. Elise Duval, Alhambra Theatre, 
Broadway and 31st Street, City.” 

What she had read was the draft of a note he intended to write to the 
actress. There was a buzzing in her ears like the rush of many waters, 
and she pressed her hand impulsively to her heart as if to stop its wild, 
tremulous beatings that sent convulsive shudders through her breast. 

She crawled over to the bow-window and threw up the sash, feeling that 
the. room was spinning round and that the floor was slipping from under 
her feet. 

Panting, she lay among the cushions with her head resting on the sill, 
drinking in the fresh air. 

What a mistake she had made in coming there at all ! He had forgotten 
her entirely for this woman. As soon as she had recovered from her faint- 
ness she would steal away, and he should never be troubled by her again. 

Slowly her eyes turned to the dull red city that spread below her like an 
ant-hill where the human ants crawled and burrowed in and out. 

A rustling sound within the room startled her from her dreams. Peep- 
ing out timorously through the curtains, she saw a handsomely dressed 
woman had just entered and was bustling around here and there, hum- 
ming a merry tune between her half-closed lips. 

Alice could not get a glimpse of the stranger’s face, but a jealous pang 
shot through her heart as she noticed how much at home the woman seemed 
to be in the little flat. 

She sat down after a few moments at the little secretary and dashed off 
a note, still singing as the pen glided over the paper. 

She had folded it and sealed it, when her eyes fell on the figure in black 
tliat was reflected in the mirror above her head. Witliout rising she ad- 
dressed the letter, at the same time speaking to Alice. 

“ r suppose you are the sewing-girl that James recommended to Mr. 
Varley. He will give you the new work when you go out. But the next 
time wait in the hall.” She took out her pocket-book and began counting 
some change. “ I may as well pay you, as he is out.” 

Jingling the change in her palm, she arose and walked toward Alice, 
counting it over meanwhile. 

“ Thirty, forty-six. A dollar forty-six. Here,” holding it out. 

Their eyes met. 

“ Alice !” and the money fell from her trembling hand and rolled away 
noisily over the polished floor. , 

Her sister stood regarding her with eyes of stone. She looked like an' 
avenging angel with her dull black robes that hung in straight folds about 
lier slender figure, her stern, set mouth, and pale face where two bright 
spots of red burned on either cheek. 

Nellie grovelled at her feet in abject misery, and tried to seize her sister’s 
liand to kiss it; but Alice drew it quickly away. At last the sound of 
Nellie's sobs seemed to rouse her, and she raised the shrinking baby-face 
towards hers, almost roughly, between her hands. 

“Look at me !” she cried hoarsely. “ Look at me, Nellie Valton ! See 
what you have made of me !” 

Nellie turned her tear-stained face away. “Forgive me !” she sobbed. 
“ Forgive me!” was all her quivering lips could utter. 

“It is easy for you to say ‘ Forgive ! ’ Once I asked you to say one 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


69 


\vor(l for me, but you were silent; and now you think a few wasted tears 
will make up for everything. For more than a year I have lived in the 
shadow of a sin that you, the guilty, might be spared, and yet you dare 
to ask me to forgive. While I have suffered in silence you have enjoyed 
life and made merry. And as if that was not enough,— to be branded as a 
criminal, to be haunted day and night by the shadow of disgrace, — you 
have stolen from me the one I loved — the one I loved !” Then, overcome 
with an overwhelming sense of her misery, she sank into a chair and cov- 
ered her face with her hands. 

For some moments she crouched there shivering, wondering why it was 
that she did not go mad, with the double weight of sorrow she was called 
upon to bear. 

Nellie plucked at her dress with trembling, nerveless fingers, like a timid, 
hesitating child. 

“ What is it she asked, almost angrily. “Have you found some means 
of making me more wretched still, some lower depth where you can drag 
me ? Come, out with it ! Out with it ! But be careful lest tlie burden is 
too heavy. To kill me at once would spoil everything.” Despair had 
given her voice a tinge of savage sarcasm. 

“Alice ! Alice !” murmured her sister feebly, while the white baby-face 
W'as disturbed with genuine grief; “ won’t you hear me a minute ?” 

“Well, I am listening,” in a hard voice, shaking off the clinging hand 
as if it had been an unclean thing she feared would sting her. “ What is 
it ?” 

“ Do you not believe that I have suffered too ?” 

Alice "laughed and thrummed nervously on the window with her trem- 
bling fingers, but said nothing. 

“ At least you wrong Mr. Varley in thinking that he cared for me. I 
only met him a week ago, whendie was introduced to me by the manager 
of the Alhambra. He invited me to dinner several times, and to the 
theatre. He was restless and uneasy, and plunged into all kinds of amuse- 
ments as if ho were afraid of being left alone with his thoughts.” 

Alice sighed heavily and listened. 

“ One day I found him in tears. He had been reading in that little 
green book on the table — something, I don’t know what; but it made him 
sad. ” 

Alice knew the little collection of poems very well. Often by the waters 
of the inlet he had read to her from the book as they idled in the shadows 
of the pines — the words of his favorite verse rose to her lips that moment 
as she sat there— the words that had thrilled her so with their sweetness 
and melody as they fell from his lips: 

“ One of these days my lady whispereth, 

A day made beautiful with summer's breath, 

Oiir feet shall cease from these divided ways, 

Our lives shall leave the distance and the haze 
And flower together in a mingling wreath; 

No pain shall part us now, no grief amaze. 

No doubt dissolve the glory of our gaze; 

Earth shall be heaven for us twain, she saith, 

One of these days.” 

Ah ! would that day ever come ? she thought, as the tears fell fast from 
her dreaming eyes. Would the burden of tears be laid aside one of these 
days ? Would it be right for her to forgive him for doubting her? And yet 
the provocation was great. 


70 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


Her sister speaking startled her. 

“Alice,” said Nellie, “I know that I have wronged you beyond forgive- 
ness, but you must believe me in this. Between us two no word of love 
has ever been spoken.” 

“Is this true?” with a searching, doubtful glance at her sister that 
made the weak mouth tremble. 

“ I swear it ! He was always worried about something, and he merely 
amused himself by taking me out, as he went to the theatre or played bil- 
liards. Sentiment had nothing to do with it.” 

Alice was on the point of asking her the meaning of that letter she had 
seen on the secretary, but she hesitated, even before her erring sister, in 
acknowledging that she was guilty of reading private correspondence. 

“ I have Just written Mr. Varley a note to tell him that I was going 
away,” continued Nellie; “ it is there on the desk waiting for him.” 

“ You — going away ?” asked Alice, mechanically. 

“Yes; T have been offered an engagement at a St. Louis theatre, and I 
think I shall take it. I— I want to get away from New York,” rubbing her 
eyes plaintively. “I have known only misery since I came here. O 
Alice ! if you have suffered, it has not been a flowery path for me. But I 
have no right to complain.” 

“ Poor Nellie!” said her sister, softly. Her kind heart melted before this 
poor little white- faced girl looking so miserable and repentant in all her 
tawdry finery. “ Poor little Nellie!” and she laid her hand on the other’s 
yellow curls. 

She could not help wondering if their lives would not have been happier 
and ruled far differently had their mother lived; and yet it was jicrhaps 
better that she did not stay to see the death of all her hopes. 

“And you have suffered, little sister,” said Alice, stroking softly the 
bowed head. “ AYas — was he not good to you ?” She could not bring her- 
self to say “ your husband.” 

“ At first,” faltered Nellie, rallying womanlike in his defence. “ I have 
only myself to blame. No wonder he left me.” 

“ Has he gone away ?” 

“ Yes, but only for a short — only for a short time,” murmured the poor 
child. “ I shall see him again.” 

“ O Nellie, Nellie ! He has deserted you — you are not telling me the 
truth,” taking her sister’s hands in hers and trying to read her answer in 
the shrinking eyes. “You will never have such a chance as this to break 
away from the life you have been leading. Another’year and it may be too 
late. Come with me. I will work for you, slave for you, anything to lift 
you out of that man’s reach. Who knows but we may be able to bring 
back some of those happy days when we lived at Ardenfield.” Then she 
thought of her father, and a sob choked her voice. “Say you will come 
away with me, Nellie !” imploringly. “Say you will come.” 

Nellie looked around her wildly, and turned away her face. 

“I cannot ! I cannot !” she murniured brokenly. 

“ Cannot !” echoed Alice, vaguely. 

“ No, no ! I love him still. God help me !” 

Her sister looked at her blankly, and with hopelessness in her eyes. 

“After deserting you, after making you suffer, you will not leave 
him ?” 

“ He said he would come back; he said he would come back,” she kept 
repeating over and over. ‘ ‘ I — I must wait for him. ” 

Alice shook her head sadly. What hope was there here ? 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAMS. 71 

“At least, you will let me come and see you sometimes?” slie said, as 
Nellie rose. “ You may be in trouble and need a friend.” 

Nellie turned away. “ It is better tliat we should never meet. Our 
paths in life lie far apart. I should only drag you down if you tried to lift 
me up. It is only just that I should suiter.” 

With a hasty kiss she slipped from her sister’s detaining hands, and stepped 
across the threshold she would never cross again in life. Alice ran trem- 
bling to the door and called her name, but there was no reply. She returned 
slowly to the room again with a saddened heart, blaming herself for letting 
her sister go away. She might never have such a chance again to save 
Nellie from herself. 

She sat down in the window-seat and mournfully reviewed the scene th;it 
had just transpired. There was iiothiug she could do now to save her sister 
as long as she clung to the man who had dragged her down. She had 
chosen her path in life, and must pursue it to the last sad end. Yet she 
thought with regret of that wasted life whose star must soon set in the mist 
and night of despair. She blamed herself bitterly that she had not guarded 
better the trust her mother had imposed. 

“I see you!” sereamed the parrot, as Varley entered. He walked 
excitedly about the room for some moments, smoking vigorously at his 
cigar. Slie was surprised to see how pale and hollow-eyed he looked, and 
that he nervously opened and closed his hands <‘is he moved among the 
tables and chairs. 

Seeing the letter on the secretary, ho picked it up and opened it, with a 
frown, 

“Want to borrow money, I suppose,” he muttered between his closed 
teeth. “They all do.” 

As he hastily scanned the lines, his face changed into a smile, 

“ Ha !” he laughed, tearing the note up into small fragments, and toss- 
ing them into the waste-basket. “Going away, eh? I really believe the 
little fool thought I was in love with her.” 

The smile died away as he turned and for the first time saw Alice seated 
in the window. As he advanced towards her, she stepped baek. Her lips 
moved, but no words followed. 

“You are not afraid of me?” he asked sadly, holding out his arms 
towards her imploringly. “O Alice! if you only knew!” and his eyes 
sought her pale face with an exi:)ression of longing and hopelessness. 

“ Let me speak first,” she said gently, not daring to look him full in 
the face. “ 1 have a long story to tell you l)efore we part.” She stumbled 
over the last word, and paused. “ Will you hear me ?” 

He looked at her blankly, as if he did not quite understand; then, as she 
motioned him towards a ehair, he sat down in a stupefied manner. 

She told him in the briefest way the story of her life, omitting nothing— 
her life in prison; the reason she had been sent there; all her sufi’erings. 
Several times he would have interrupted her, but it was not until she had 
finished that slm allowed him to speak. 

“It is only right that you should know the reason why I refused to be 
your wife,” she said as she rose. “I knew you were proud, and I did 
liot dare to tell you the truth at the time, lest you should hate me. But 
now tliat I have left Mrs. Ralston's — ” 

“ You are going away; where ?” he asked. 

“ Yes: a friend has found a position in a private school, and I have con- 
cluded to take it. It will be a splendid place for me to lose my identity; 
don’t you think so ?” with a bitter smile, 


72 


THE SHADOW OV THE BARS. 


He made a step towards h(?r and hesitated, as if he were choosing his 
words and knew not how to 1 eiin. 

“Yon think me a coward; you despise me,” he said sadly, “l^ut, 
at worst, I have been only weak. I ran away from Villa Eden because 
love was overriding every doubt, and the evil in my heart kept urging 
me to suspect you. I came here to fight the battle out alone.” 

“ And which triumphed ?” 

He walked over to the secretary, and laid a sheet of note-paper in her 
hand. “ Let this speak for me. It is the draft of a letter 1 was to wn-itc 
to you to-day.” . 

What need was there for her to scan the lines ? Every word she knew 
by heart, since the moment she had read them with jealous eyes. 

The paper trembled in her fingers. He mistook the expression in her 
face for doubt. 

“You do not believe me!” he cried. “0 Alice! xilice, my darling! 
you will not go aw^ay hating me! You will find some pity for me; yon, 
who are strong. You will forgive me — you wfill forgive me for doubting 
you. I had figured to myself that you would answer this letter, and that 
I should go back to Villa Eden with such a prayer on my lips as I dare 
not utter now.” 

He covered his face with his hands lest she should see the tell-tale tears 
that filled his eyes. Was it not hard for her, too, this scene ? 

“It was not strange that you should doubt me,” she said gently. “I 
should have told you everything at once. I had suffered so much — I -was 
so happy that I dreaded lest the dream would fade away too soon.” She 
paused, and tears quivered in her voice. “You — you do not hate me 
because I have lived among criminals and must always bear the stain of 
a prison life ?” 

He looked at her with misty eyes. 

“ Your sufferings have only made you dearer to me,” he said. “ If there 
is a just God in heaven, your tears have not been shed in vain. O Alice ! 
Alice ! would you go away and leave me to face a lonely, loveless future ? 
You are strong and good and pure. I need you in my life to strengthen 
me, so that I may learn how to suffer in silence and endure. Your love 
gave me new life; I cannot live without it. Stay and teach me how to be 
true to myself.” 

He took her hot hands in his, though she weakly resisted, and looked 
beseechingly into her face. 

“I made a wretched mistake ! I dared to doubt you, darling; but you 
— you will forgive me ?” 

Then a weakness overcame her, and he suddenly felt warm tears on his 
cheek, and the clasp of moist hands about his neck. 

“ I s6e you !” squawked the parrot, bursting into a fit of ribald laughter. 
But they heard him not. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IT IS THE UNEXPECTED THAT HAPPENS. 

Alice’s mysterious disappearance gave the family at Villa Eden some- 
thing to talk about for several days to come. The' conspirators w^ere en- 
tirely nonplussed at the sudden change in the enemy’s tactics, and were 
willing to confess in secret that their plans had miscarried, and that they 
were most signally defeated, ' - 


THE SlIAhOV/ OF THE BARS. 


73 


“ I don't believe a word about her going to New York to get a teacher's 
position,” said Lelia, savagely. “I’d bet ten to one that she marched 
straight to his rooms, and they are probably laughing at us this very mo- 
ment.” 

“ Well, it’s all over now,” said Harding, thoughtfully contemplating a 
ring of smoke floating over his head. “ When you have had as many 
catch-as-catch-can wrestling-matches with fortune as I have, you will learn 
to take things with equanimity. I eat my rations as they are dealt out, 
the fat with the lean. I bear it, but I don’t always grin.” 

“ You are an idiot,” said Lelia, graciously. 

“ Jes’ so.” he drawled, smoking on in silence. Then, “ Don't you sup- 
pose this hits me as bad as it does you? You are not the only one who 
lias been knocked out.” 

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 

“ You might have known such a little mischief-maker would double on 
you. You had no business to fall in love with that little white-faced 
humbug. Varley will soon get tired of her,” clicking her heels together 
viciously and rocking violently to and fro in her chair. “You ought to 
be glad of your escape.” 

“ Do you feel thankful that Varley is out of reach ?” asked Harding in a 
tantalizing voice, as he studied a knot-hole in the porch with a meek ex- 
pression on his face. 

Then Lelia called him a brute, and something else that sounded almost 
like profanity, and disappeared in a rustle of skirts, looking angry enough 
to pull somebody’s hair. 

He shrugged his shoulders, gave a little laugh, and sprawled into the 
hammock, where he lay on his back smoking, and running over the situa- 
tion carefully in his mind 

A defeat might subdue him for the time, but he soon rose buoyantly to 
the surface again like a cork; and even when down in luck, his face never 
relaxed its cheerful and hopeful expression. He had his emotions thor- 
oughly under control, and worked them at will, as if he were manipulating 
the wires of a marionette theatre. 

He had met a decisive Waterloo at Villa Eden, but it only took him a 
few days to regain his customary composure. Alice was beyond his reach, 
he knew that, and his infatuation was dying a natural death. 

He had thought himself very much in love with her at the time ; but 
now that she had passed out of sight and ho saw her no more, he was sur- 
prised to find how little she occupied his thoughts. It was a peculiar part 
of this man’s nature that he was an infatuated lover for the space of two 
or three months, and then became totally indift’erent to the object on 
whom he had lavished his doubtful affections. So it had been with Nellie, 
and so it would have naturally followed if he had been able to arouse any 
reciprocal feeling in Alice. So it would be with the next to come. He 
regretted Varley’s absence because there was now no one vHiom he could 
borrow^ money from; and Menzer, if he had been bleeding the young man, 
still continued to preserve a disagreeable silence. Unless something hap- 
pened very soon to retrieve his fortunes, Harding saw that he would be 
reduced to financial extremities again. He reviewed his condition crit- 
ically over and over for a loophole of escape from the difficulties that were 
gathering around him. 

Mrs. Ralston had taken a great fancy to him, or his personal vanity 
made him think so ; at least she seemed to enjoy his company very much, 
and invited him to visit her during the winter at St. Augustine, It had 


74 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAE8. 


occurred to him that he might marry her and go over to Europe and live 
there, but he was afraid she might prove too devoted a wife, and a shrewd 
financier, and that his position in her house would be about on a par with 
the butler’s ; so he decided not to try for her except as a last resort. 

It took a great many cigars for him to decide on just what step it was 
best for him to take. Time was precious, the season would soon be over, 
and it behooved him to be up and doing, or he would be sprawling im- 
potently in the net of want again. 

At last he made up his mind that he would try and get Lelia; and the 
more he thought of her, the more enthusiastic he grew over his plan. Her 
worldliness charmed him. He had a certain veneration for the cold and 
calculating way she went about doing things. Such an utter lack of con- 
science did she display at times that he found himself lost in admiration . 

What an admirable couple they would make to roam the Continent 
together ! What larks they would have at Baden-Baden, at Trouville, at 
Monte Carlo! She was young yet, and it was only a question of time when 
he could bring her down to his own unscrupulous level. In fancy he saw 
her the lovely decoy of a Parisian gaming-house, where she should reign a 
queen of fortune, and lure young fools to ruin by her beauty. He was 
carried away by golden dreams, and saw himself rolling in riches, and 
living just such a life of lazy luxury as he had pictured to himself would 
come some day as the reward of his cunning. 

Wlien he spoke of marriage to Lelia, she laughed in his face, and told 
him to keep his offer until the first of April. 

He said no more at the time, but he knew she was not offended at what 
he had said. It was several days before he spoke of the subject again, for 
he wanted her to have time to think the matter over calmly. 

They had been thrown together a great deal that summer; so much, that 
she had come to rely on him for advice in the smallest matter, and she had 
begun to think, even before he spoke of marriage, what she should do after 
he went away. His unscrupulous nature pleased her. He was steeped in 
worldliness to his finger-tips; his conversations hinted at doubtful pleasures 
that slie had only dreamed about or read of in French novels of the natu- 
ralistic school. 

He did not try to make love to her. He offered her marriage because 
he knew she was not yet so morally rotten as to take him without a wedding- 
ring. His proposal was purely a business arrangement, and it was made 
in a cold, matter-of-fact way. He had no money, and he told her so ; but 
he Would show her how her fortune might be safely quadrupled, and he 
would show her how to live as she had never lived before. Here she was 
wasting her youth with a dreary old woman, when she might have the world 
for a football ; yawning her days away, wdien she might be dancing and 
feasting, tasting real pleasures, and snapping her fingers at society and its 
silly restrictions. 

He drew for her the most enticing pictures of what their life would be on 
the Continent, where people made a study of the pleasures of life, and 
were not content to mope their lives away in a chrysalis state. 

He would purchase for her a title in Italy or Spain, and she should be 
the Princess this, or the Countess that, if she cared for such things. He 
also hastened to assure her that he would prove the most complacent of 

husbands, and that if her flirtations were carried on discreetly, why, he 

but what was the use of looking so far ahead as that ? 

On the top of Mont Blanc people find difficulty in breathing on account 
of the rarefied air, Lelia found trouble in breathing the air of high life, 


THE mADOW OF THE BARS. 


75 


and sighed for the level of the plains. She wanted to live in the land of 
unconventional manners, with her capital in the city of Prague. 

She strained at the shackles that bound her to society. She was sick of 
hearing that this and that was not proper, and of being pointed out by 
virtuous mothers to their daughters as a very fast young woman. 

The prim and formal laws of the circle in which her family moved irri- 
tated her. She wanted to be free to come and go unquestioned, and to act 
and dress as suited her moods; and Harding’s oifer seemed to open up a 
road to freedom. 

She knew that he was heartless and selfish, but she had no fear that he 
would treat her cruelly as long as she held the purse-strings. He would 
not worry her with sentiment, that was one sure, thing, and she would be 
just as free as air. 

A few days before Mrs. Ralston was to start for Hew York to prepare for 
her trip South, Lelia delighted Harding by accepting him. 

Her continued silence had made him doubtful of the result ; but now 
he had been formally accepted, his brain was filled with the most delight- 
ful visions. He wanted to kiss her then and there just to seal the bargain. 
She slapped his face, and ran laughing into the house. Truly, she was a 
most delightful little woman. 

What a lucky fellow he was, surely, to be lifted up again after such a 
knock-down blow of fortune! At the last moment something always turned 
up most opportunely, and just as he was beginning to lose all hope. He 
looked eagerly forward to the time when Lelia should become his wife; 
he even began to fancy that he was in love with her. But then he did not 
find it hard to grow sentimental over any woman ; and it was easier when 
she was young and blonde and beautiful. 

The remaining days of the season passed away very pleasantly after that, 
for Harding and Miss Ferris were inseparable, and sat out on the piazza 
until long after midnight, talking over their plans in a low voice, and laying 
out a programme for the winter. 

He could see her eyes flashing in the gloom as he regaled her with ac- 
counts of midnight suppers at Paris and garden fUes in the suburbs. She 
was never tired of hearing about the nightly revels of the gay city. 

It was pleasant news to both of them when Mrs. Ralston one morning 
ordered her maid to pack up, and gave directions to the other servants 
about closing the villa. 

AVhen the party finally arrived in Hew York, the widow and her niece 
were driven to their house on Madison Avenue, while Harding found a 
quiet hotel in the neighborhood. 

Lelia had said nothing to her aunt about the intended marriage. She 
never took anybody into her confidence, not even her mother, and she was 
afraid to announce her intention lest some objections might be raised. 
Ller fortune was her own, and she cared very little what anybody thought 
of her actions, merely keeping silent because arguments annoyed her. 

Harding strolled over to Menzer’s office after Jie had fixed himself com- 
fortably in his hotel. The old man received him with anything but cor- 
diality; in fact, he seemed out of temper. 

“Vere are dose gustomers you vos to shend me?” he asked, beating 
away at an old sealskin coat he held in his hand, and looking at Harding 
as if he wished to treat him the same way. “ Unt after I lent you all dot 
monish, eh?” 

“Why, you old scoundrel, I did send you a young man named Varley, 
and devilish good pickings you found him, I dare say,” lighting his cigar- 


76 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


eltc and sitting down on a ])ile of old innffs in various stages of decay. 
“Don’t come any funny business with me, iNtenzer; it won’t do.” 

“ Veil, if you shen’t any vnn, vouldn't 1 see him?” shrieked the money- 
lender, shaking a fist of doubtful color in close proximity to the other’s 
nose. “ I pelief dot Schaus on do corner of Houston Shtreet made you a 
better offer, unt you sent dot gustomer dere. Dot’s vot I link. Oh, vot 
ingratitude when your Uncle Abe treat you so nice! Vere is dot monish I 
lend you ?” his voice rising in a shrill shriek. 

“The money is spent; that’s what I got it for,” blowing a cloud of 
smoke in the Jew’s face. “Sit down, and don’t make such a row.” 

“ But my monish !” 

“ Sit down !’’ pushing him into a chair, 
i The Jew subsided, snarling to himself, and only half convinced. 

“If you say you have seen nothing of this young man, I suppose I must 

believe you; but it is d queer, tliat’s all. Listen to me. I am about 

to marry a rich girl. We are going to Europe.” 

“ You vill vant shooles, my tear; don’t forget Menzer’s ish sheepest in de 
bizness. I have a lot vot came in to-day; let me show you—” 

“ Shut up, will you, and here me out! I came here for more money to 
last me until I can get hold of some of my wife’s cash. You shall have 
two hundred per cent.” 

The Jew shook his head. 

“Three hundred!” 

“ De risk vos too great.” 

“ I only want two hundred dollars. Come, you’ve done business with mo 
before. You know" I’ll pay you back. Come, I’m desperate. You know 
you can’t afford me fo:^ an enemy; I know" too much.” 

The Jew moved slowiy tow^ards his desk, as if it pained him to w"alk. He 
paused a moment in the middle of the floor, and cast a quick look at 
Harding. 

“You VOS sure of dis marriage ?” 

“ Quite sure.” 

He unlocked the desk and drew" out a paper on w"hich he wu’otc a few 
lines, and handed it to Harding. 

“ Sign this,” he said. 

“ Why, it’s for a thousand dollars!” 

The Jew’ nodded. “You tink T do business for nuddings? Take it or 
leave it. My agents in Europe vill see it is collected.” 

“ Curse you for an old blood-sucker!” exclaimed Harding, as he dashed 
off his signature. He took the money and thrust it in his vest-pocket. 
“ I sincerely trust you may get this money back.” 

“ Haf no fear, my chilt,” laying his dirty finger alongside of his nose 
with a shrew d look. “ Your Uncle Abe only got fooled once on a bad debt, 
unt dot VOS veil he took a lot of medicines from a druggist w’ho vos behind 
mill his rent. Unt shiist to tink, I vas never sick since! Oh, vot a sheat ! 
But I vos young den, I do so no more. I vos too fly. Dose tiamants you 
showed me— dose mysterious tiamants, my chilt,” significantly. 

Harding slammed the door behind him and w’ent cursing dow’iistairs. 

That night Harding and Delia went to the theatre. I’hey were both in 
the gayest mood, and he found himself calculating, as he sat in the back 
of the box, what a capital her charms would prove when he started his 
Parisian gam ing-palace. 

He admired tin; w’ay she turned her metallic eyes in the direction of the 
stalls, where some high-collared young men w"ere ogling her already wdth 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


77 


tlieir lorgnettes. It was not long before half the men in the theatre had 
directed their attention to the beauty in the box, whose careless attitude as 
she leaned on one white arm was irresistible and striking. If she was 
conscious of the havoc she was creating among the male element of the 
theatre, she did not show it; yet every pose was taken to display the 
voluptuous outlines of her figure. 

Harding could not have told what the play was about had he been asked. 
He was too much interested in his new star, and in preparing for the 
comedy of human folly which he intended to stage so elaborately, with 
himself as the conspiring villain of the cast. 

After the third act Lelia complained of being tired, and wished to go 
home. He was not sorry, because he wanted to talk more about their plans 
for the future. He was a little jealous, perhaps, because every man stared 
at her so. He wanted to feel that he owned her already. She was his 
stock-in-trade, and he did not want any one to get a chattel mortgage. 

They reached the carriage-entrance, and found it had been raining, and 
that the pavement was like a black mirror, and the air heavy with mist. 

Lelia declared she must get her skirts pinned up, and stepped into a 
little dressing-room off the lobby, while Harding went in search of the 
driver. 

He found that worthy asleep on his box near the corner, and waking 
him up rather rudely, got in the carriage and was driven back to the 
theatre. 

As he opened the door and stepped on to the pavement, a trembling hand 
clutched his arm. 

“George, my husband! have I found you again?” Nellie’s pale face 
was lifted to his. “ I knew you would not desert me !” 

“ Yes, yes — some other time,” he exclaimed nervously, trying to shake 
off her detaining hand. “I cannot speak to you now.” 

“ You shall never leave me again!” clinging to him with trembling 
hands, yet frightened by the look she saw in his eyes— “ never again !” 

“Quite right to remind your husband of his duty,” laughed a scornful 
voice. Lelia, radiant in a creamy opera-cloak of satin and swan’s-down, 
had been an amused witness of Harding’s discomfiture. “I will not 
detain you, since you are so pleasantly engaged,” she laughed, stepping 
into the carriage, while he regarded her with a half-stupefied air. 

The word “ home” which she gave the driver roused him. 

“ Lelia !” he cried, making a step hastily forward. 

The door was banged in his face, a white hand waved a sardonic fare- 
well from the window, and the carriage vanished in the darkness. 

Then he realized what had taken place and knew what he had lost, and 
turned on Nellie with a face like an incarnate fiend’s. 

“ What is it, — whut is it ?” she gasped. 

“Curse you for a fool! You have ruined me!” And thrusting her 
from him so brutally that she fell in a huddled heap on the pavement, he 
strode away through the mist without once looking back. 


78 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A SENSATION FOR THE PAPERS. 

It was between eleven and twelve at night, but John Garth waite had 
no thought of turning towards home, knowing he was far too nervous to 
sleep. He always dreaded the. hours of darkness, because then he was 
through with his work on the paper, and was free to think of other things, 
and he did not want to think of other things. 

So it was that he could never be satisfied to spend an evening at home 
over a book, but was only contented roaming about the streets and ming- 
ling with the crowds in the gayly-lighted thoroughfares, trying to interest 
himself in the faces he saw, and speculating on the possible loves and 
trials of the fleeting shadows on the pavements. 

He studied the stories of the streets, and was familiar with all the vary- 
ing phases of life in the great city after dark. 

A shadow on a window-curtain, a hurrying hansom cab, a cry in the 
night, were all fraught with a subtle meaning to him; and from a trivial 
incident he could often trace a tremendous sensation which the editors of 
the Daily Telegraph, the morning paper that now emploj^ed him, were 
always glad to use. 

In this way he was able to keep a check on his thoughts, and at the 
same time furnish exclusive news very often for the journal. 

On the night in question the streets were more deserted than usual, and 
Garthwaite’s spirits fell accordingly, as there was so little to occupy his 
mind and pin his thoughts to the present. He hardly needed the 
“ Gooda-nighta” from the old chestnut vendor who was warming his 
shrivelled hands over a tiny brazier on the corner. 

Over the city a dense yellow mist was settling, through which the globes 
of the electric lamps glimmered like soap-bubbles — such a cloud as settles 
over a field of battle when the work of carnage is over, that clogs the nos- 
trils and chokes the respiration. 

In and out the folds of vaporous curtains glided belated working-girls, 
weary-footed phantoms, with wan faces, hurrying over the greas}’ pave- 
ment with their eyes on the ground. And other foul birds of the* night, 
Avhose garments rustled and flapped like wings, fled from shadow to 
shadow, or lifted their death-like faces towards the passer-by, and spoke 
in hoarse whispers that sounded like the echoes of lost souls. 

The giant of commerce was sleeping. Only from afar came the sound 
of strange, rumbling noises, as if the minotaur was snoring or turned 
uneasily in his sleep. 

Along Broadway the rushing noise of the street-sweeping machines was 
heard, and about the piles of refuse collected along the curb hovered stoop- 
ing, misshapen figures, who snarled at each other as they clawed in the' 
rubbish with long hooks. 

Garthwaite, deep in thought, had wandered away from the lights of 
Fourteenth Street, and when he looked around he was standing under the 
Elevated road on Second Avenue. 

He had worked hard all day, and the walk had tired him still more. It 
was useless to ramble any longer about in the sickening mist, and his 
watch told him that it was twenty minutes of twelve. 

As he turned away to go home, a piercing cry rang out in the quiet air, 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAllS. 


79 


so shrill that it sent a shiver to his heart, It seemed to come from the 
direction of a small brick house near the corner, where a light burned 
dimly through the mist. 

Garthwaite was not long to remain in doubt, for the front door of the 
dwelling was burst violently open, and a man without a hat or coat 
pitched wildly down the steps into the street. 

Garthwaite had a momentary glimpse of two staring eyes and a livid 
face, as the panting figure flashed by him and disappeared in the gloom 
and mist in the direction of the East River. 

In the momentary glance the journalist had of the fugitive, he thought 
he had seen the face somewhere before, just when and where he could not 
remember, but the features seemed familiar. 

Then it occurred to him that he was perhaps on the track of a great 
sensation — a piece of exclusive news for the Telegraph. His moodiness 
disappeared in a second. lie was the alert journalist now, on duty, with 
eyes and ears vigilant and keen. 

The house was quiet enough when he reached it. Perhaps the inmates 
were sound sleepers, and an awful cry in the night was not an unusual 
sound in that neighborhood. 

The landlady stood in the midst of an incongruous group of people in 
shawls and waterproofs, whose sex it was impossible to distinguish in the 
dim light of the hall lamp. She was a very stout lady in a green wrapper, 
and she declaimed in a husky voice to her audience with the accompani- 
ment of a deluge of tears and a prevailing odor of cheap gin. 

“I knowed it ’ud come — I knowed it,” brandishing a red fist in close 
proximity to a large nose belonging to the group. “ Ever since he come 
back ’e’s been drinkin’ that hard, and now ’e’s went and done it. I ain’t 
never had nothin’ like it in my house before,” she wailed. “ Never; and 
I been in the business twenty year. No, nothin’ like it since the sword- 
swallerin' gent bolted my best carvin’-knife in dead earnest, through 
bein’ jilted by the mermaid at the Musee. As fine a lookin’ gal as — ” 

“ What room ?” asked Garthwaite, authoritatively, as he touched her on 
the arm. 

She pointed with a snivel overhead. 

“ And I says it again, there ain’t a finer-lookin’--” 

“ Send for a doctor at once,” interrupting her eloquence. 

“But— there ain’t Jno use,” she blurted out. “Why, the poor, dear 
thing—” 

“ Send for one at once; do you hear? I shall hold you responsible for 
any neglect. Come, no nonsense!” 

One of the lumps of clothes in the pile said it would go, and the land- 
lady pumped up a fresh supply of tears, and started in again to harangue 
her audience, while the jourmilist bounded upstairs. 

The gas was burning dimly in the front room when he entered. The 
light shining through the tinted globe spread a pale-blue radiance ovei‘ the 
disorder. On the table stood a broken bottle and a couple of empty 
glasses. A puddle of spilt liquor on the floor filled the close room with its 
fumes. 

Garthwaite turned up the lights in the chandelier, and then grew deadly 
pale. His fingers were covered with blood. Shuddering with disgust, he 
wiped them clean on the table-cloth, but it seemed to cling to his skin like 
a corrosive dye that would not wash out. 

What was that terrible bed about to reveal to his frightened eyes ? What 
lay there so still ? 


80 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


Shivering in every limb, he walked slowly towards it with averted eyes, 
as if he half anticipated what he should see there. 

The huddled figure of a woman lay among the tumbled pillows; her hair 
half shaded her face, and she was breathing with a hoarse sound. 

Over the pale blue wrapper a thin stream of blood was trickling like a 
red silk cord. The soft yellow curls formed a golden nimbus about her 
head, and lent a spiritual grace to the gray and ghastly features. 

He looked at her hesitatingly in the dim light, and bent down and slowly 
examined her features. 

Then he turned his head away, and stood there with averted eyes as if 
a struggle was going on within him, and felt a growing weakness he wanted 
to check. 

He sat down in a chair by the bed, and his teeth moved together with a 
grinding sound, while his face assumed an expression of determination. 

The creaking of the chair seemed to startle her, and she turned and 
opened her eyes wearily, wonderingly. 

“ John Garthwaite!” she murmured huskily; ‘‘ John Garthwaite !” 

He made no sign that he heard; he did not move or look at her, and 
his face was fixed and cold. 

She reached out blindly for his hand, her fingers creeping tremblingly 
over the coverlet, but he withdrew it hastily — almost impatiently. The 
effort brought on another spasm, and for a moment she lay gasping heav- 
ily, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face. 

Determined as he was not to show any feeling, he could not remain pas- 
sive in the presence of such agony. With the same unyielding look on his 
face, he improvised a bandage with his handkerchief to stop the blood 
from flowing, and gave her a sip of brandy from his pocket-flask. 

She lifted her heavy eyelids, and a tear made a deep furrow as it rolled 
down her powdered cheek. 

“Thank 3mn,” she murmured faintly. 

He stamped his feet a igrily. 

“Enough ! I am here for business.” 

He took a writing-pad out of his coat-pocket, and a long pencil. She 
looked at him wonderingly as his eyes roamed critically about the room. 

Then he began writing rapidly, muttering the sentences over to himself 
in a low voice as they were committed to paper. 

“ The scene of this terrible tragedy was a cheap lodging-house on Twelfth 
.Street, much frequented by the lower grades of theatrical and circus ])ei*- 
formers. The victim of the outrage was found lying on the bed haU' 
dressed and bleeding profusely from a dangerous wound over the heart. 
It was undoubtedly inflicted by a clasp-knife or a stiletto. There is no 
doubt that the murder was committed by the woman’s alleged husband, 
as for some daj^s past they had been quarrelling together, and on the niglit 
of the tragedy strange sounds were heard coming from their apartments 
as if a struggle was going on. A moment after a fearful cry rang through 
the house, and the husband rushed bareheaded into the street.” 

Garthwaite shut his teeth firmly together, and wrote slowly and labori- 
ously. “But there is no possibility of his escaping.” He started with 
a cry. Nellie had leaned over towards him, and laid her trembling fingers 
on his arm. He brushed her hand away quickly. 

“ Don’t you know me, John ?” she murmured, falling back on the pillow. 

He paid no attention, but resumed his writing. 

“Few would have recognized in the miserable murdered woman the 
once beautiful daughter of a well-known scientist of this State.” 


THE SHADOW OF THE BAHS, 


81 


Ske looked at him imploringly. 

“ Whose name we are justified in withholding.” He saw that his hand 
was trembling. “The story of this woman’s fall is so like others that it 
will not bear repeating. {She succumbed to the fascinations of a villain 
whUe at boarding-school. For a time they were parted, and when he saw 
her again she had married a man old enough to be her father; owing to 
family influence that had been brought to bear. She hoped, no doubt, by 
this marriage to be freed from all parental restrictions. She was wayward 
and vain, and would bear no curbing of her will. She wanted to be free, 
even if she sinned to gain her freedom.” 

“John, John! for God’s sake hear me !” moaned the dying woman. 

“The result of such a match might have been foreseen. The old lover 
returned again. The chains that bound her to her husband galled lier, 
and she did not hesitate to cast them off. After stooping to commit a fel- 
ony at his instigation, the guilty pair fled, and the miserable woman left 
the burden of her sin for an innocent one to bear.” 

“ John, listen to me— look at me 1” she cried in agony, struggling towards 
him. “Oh God, for — forgive me !” 

“ In her dying moments the wretched woman prayed repeatedly for for- 
giveness” — the pencil now was dashing over the paper; beads of per- 
spiration gathered on his forehead, but he did not stop to wipe them away 
— “to the girl who still suffers for her crime; to the poor father who died 
heart-broken becaus(i of her sin; to the husband whose life, w^hose hop(‘, 
she has blasted forever,”— and in the last words there was a groan of (h> 
spair. 

“John, John I here, here 1” she gasped in a choking voice. “ I— I am 
dying — dying. Oh, oh !” 

He started up quivering. For a moment his eyes sought her livid face 
as she opened her feeble lips to speak. She tried to lift her hands towards 
him, but she was too wc^ak, and they fell impotently to her side. The 
shadows were gathering in her fac(^ as she sank back, clutching for her 
breath. 

“ Nellie !” he cried,. dashing his pencil and paper away. “ Nellie !” 

She was in his arms now, — those sheltering arms that she should never 
have strayed from, — while his hot t(^ars rained down on her cheeks. She 
lifted her" face wearily towards his, and for a moment a light glimmered 
in the misty blue eyes, and the ghost of a smile hovered about her trem- 
bling lips. 

He bent his ear close to catch the last faint whisper, but a convulsion 
seized her, and she fell back on the pillows gasping painfully, and Clutch- 
ing at her heart with one trembling hand. j 

- For— forgive !” the pale lips quivered. He kissed her tenderly, aid laid 
her head on his breast. Then with a weary sigh she fell asleep, tl^ sleep 
that knows no waking. \ 


CHAPTER XV. 

LIGHT AND SHADE. 

The morning sun touched the tops of the orange-trees with luminous 
flakes, and the'parched terraces were white with light. 

In the cool shadows of the latticed veranda two women sat before a 
snowy table strewn with the remains of a late breakfast. Their dresses 


82 


THE SHADOW OF THE BARS. 


{ 


of lilac and a delicate sea-green were vivid patches of color against the 
white walls of the house. 

The bunch of orange-blossoms set in a silver bowl among the cut glass 
spread a delicate odor through the air, and mingled with the salt warm 
breeze from the sea. 

The younger lady wore an air of ill-repressed ennui as she leaned her 
delicate face on one white arm, and yawned over a newspaper that bore a 
New York date-mark. 

The elderly lady was reading eagerly aloud from a letter she had re- 
ceived by the morning mail. 

‘‘ ‘ We arrived in Rome last night, and I think Alice has improved in 
liealth since we left London. Would you advise us to spend the winter at 
San Remo ? You have been there so often that you can tell me if you think 
it would suit us. ’ Lelia, ” turning to the younger lady, ‘ ‘ your cousin Clinton 
and his wife think of spending the winter at San Remo. We might join 
them there.” 

“I’m sure I don’t care if they spend it in purgatory,” remarked her 
companion, irritably. “ I’m not the least interested in their move- 
ments.” 

“ Why, my dear Lelia, when will you he able to learn to hide your feel- 
ings ? It you show your jealousy so openly before me, you will soon do the 
same before other people. Nothing is such bad form as a vulgar display 
of the emotion. Any one could see you are frightfully jealous.” 

“Jealous ? Absurd !” exclaimed her niece, angrily. “ One would think 
I was a humpbacked old maid to hear you talk, when I could whistle a 
dozen to my feet any day if I wanted them. Clinton is not the only man 
in the world just because you fancy him. The way he let himself be taken 
in by that adventuress sliows that his morals were not of a very high 
order.” 

“There, there, my dear,” Mrs. Ralston breaks in soothingly, “don’t 
let us get up a discussion in this warm weather. It’s enough to try any- 
one’s temper, and we have? discussed your cousin's marriage so often be- 
fore. ” 

She fans herself rapidly, and returns to the letter, while Lelia sulkily 
resumes her newspaper. The bees drone drowsily in the orange-grove at 
the foot of the lawn. The chirp of the noisy Florida insects blends into a 
lioarse rattle. Strange sounds and croakings from the reedy swamp be- 
yond mingle with the tinkle of a piano in the neighboring plantation. 

“ That reminds me,” says Mrs. Ralston, folding up her letter slowly and 
restoring it to the envelope, “I have not had a line from Mr. Harding 
since he left us in New York. He promised to visit us here in November, 
and the month is almost gone.” 

“ T was just going to call your attention to something here in the paper 
about him,” Lelia says, with an air of affected carelessness. 

“ He is married ?” and there is a disappointed intonation in Mrs. Ral- 
ston’s voice. She had hopes herself in that direction. 

“No: dead.” 

“ Dead ! Let me see it — let me see it.” 

She glanced over the paper rapidly, and turned deadly pale. 

“ Wha — wiiat ! ‘ George Harding w’as executed by electricity at 6 a.m. 

yesterday morning for murder’! Oh, is it possible ! * And to think that I 
entertained that WTetch all summer in my own house ! We might have 
])een all murdered in our beds ! Oh, oh ! Lelia, I am faint; pour me out a 
cup of black coffee. Dear, dear, what an escape !” 


the: shadow of the bars. 83 

“That’s nothing,” retorted the niece, filling the cup with a steady hand. 

“ Wliy, I had agreed to marry him.” 

“Lelia !” screamed Mrs. Fwalston, with starting eyes. [ 

“ How many lumps did you say, aunt ?” | 

Beyond the walls of the city that never sleeps, where the sky is unsul- 
lied wdth the smoke of factory chimneys, and the din of the streets is only 
a vague echo, lies a city of silence whose marble towers and temples whiten 
the plains and hillside. 

And flowers grow in its highways, and twine unrestrained about the 
portals of its palaces; and tiiose who thread their way through its grUvSS- 
grown aisles walk with reverential air and downcast eyes. 

Yet even here in this city of tlie dead, as in the city of tlie living beyond, 
there is rank andidegree. 

The temples and towers of the rich crown the soft hillsides, and their 
costly carveii fronts frown down on the shabliy little graves that crouch 
in hollow's of the plain, half hidden by the underbrush. 

Through the tangled shrubberv that half liides the pathw'ay leading to a 
group of lowly graves, a stooping, gray-haired man is Avalkiiig slow'ly this 
bright spring day. He pauses w earily at last before a rough, misshapen 
granite rock, over which the wild ivy clambers unrestrained. It bears no 
date, no name, to tell to others whosi^ dust it is that lies beneatli. 

But this man know's. 

See, he has kneeled down by the side of the grave. His hat is off, and 
the w'ind is making merrj with his silver-gray (uirls. He has laid liLs worn 
face against the stone, and his lii)s are moving tremulously together. 

“Nellie! Nellie !” he murmurs. So faint the sound, and yet the dead 
must hear! 

On the portal of the marble mausoleum beyond, a gilt inscription glistens 
in the sun. It records the piety, the virtues, and benefactions of the 
money-lender w'hose bones rest beneath. The rays glancing from the pol- 
ished "pillars of the temple fall upon the simple rock and outline with gold 
the letters of the word 


Forgivs, 


THE EKD, 


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JUVENILES. 


ONE SYLLABLE HISTORIES OF THE STATES. 

Histories of the States in Words of One Syllable. 
SPECIALLY DESIGNED FOR THE YOUNG. 


A HISTORY OF NEW ENGLAND 

In Words of One Syllable. By Mrs. H. N. Cady. Richly Illustrated. Illu- 
minated Board Cover. Boards, $1.00. Cloth, $1.50. 

A HISTOEY OF NEW YOEK 

In Words of One'Syllable. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. Richly Illustrated. 
Illuminated Board Cover. Boards, $1.00. Cloth, $1.50. 

A HISTORY OF ILLINOIS 

In Words of One Syllable. By Thos. W. Handford. Richly Illustrated. 
Illuminated Board Cover. Boards, $1.00. Cloth, $1.50. 

A HISTORY OF OHIO 

111 Words of One Syllable. By Mrs. H. N. Cady. Richly Illustrated. Illu- 
minated Board Cover. Boards, $1.00. Cloth, $1.60. 

WHAT JESUS SAID. 

The Words of the Lord Jesus, Expounded, Classified, and Arranged in Con- 
venient Positions Suitable for Committal to Memory. A Book Specially 
for the Little Ones. By Thomas W. Handford. With 20 Illustrations 
from Drawings by Gustave Dore. Illuminated Board Cover, 50 cents. 

POETRY AND PICTURES. 

Poems and Legends from the Old World and the New. For the Boys and 
Girls of America. Edited by Thomas W. Handford. Beautifully Illus- 
trated. Illuminated Board Cover. Price, 50 cents. 

ANIMALS AND BIRDS. 

Stories and Studies Concerning the Habits of Animals and Birds, Profusely 
Illustrated. Edited by Thomas W. Handford. Illuminated Board 
Cover. Price, 50 cents. 

CHRISTMAS DAY. 

Stories, Legends, and Poems of the Merry Christmas Tide. Christmas Games 

. and Readings suitable for Christmas Festivities. Book for the Young. 
By Thomas W. Handford. Fully Illustrated. Illuminated Board 
Cover. Price, 50 cents. 

BEDFORD, CLARKE & CO., 

CHICAGO, NEW YORK, and SAN FRANCISCO. 








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